Heir
by Na'hiel
Summary: When Harry was five, he met his best friend: the sliver of another man's soul living inside of him. Things would never be the same again. Book one of at least two. HP/DM slash intended in the next book.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Prologue-

The moment the glass shattered, Harry knew he was in trouble.

It didn't matter that Uncle Vernon had knocked into him, it didn't matter that Dudley had stuck his foot out at just the right moment, it only mattered that Harry had been the one to drop the glass. But Harry wasn't stupid. He was young, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the score. Even if he hadn't been the one to drop the glass, he would have been punished for it. He was still in the room, after all. Still in the house. Still existed. And that was always more than enough for his Uncle.

"I'm sorry!" he managed, just before he was grabbed by the back of his shirt. "Please, Uncle," he choked out, and then Aunt Petunia and Dudley were both setting their forks down, placing their napkins on their plates, moving away from the table.

"Dudders, we don't want you seeing this," Aunt Petunia murmured, and Harry tried not to scream. It hadn't been his fault, he wouldn't have... it didn't matter.

As Uncle Vernon tore his shirt from his back (another thing that Harry would be blamed for as the flimsy, over washed material tore away with little effort), Harry knew that it didn't matter. It never mattered whose fault it was, it never mattered... it never mattered.

The belt buckle bit into his skin for the first time, then, and Harry fought not to scream. To beg. It didn't matter if he did that, either, except that he thought maybe Uncle Vernon enjoyed it when he did, because when Harry did finally give in, like he always did, it always got so much worse.

Harry was only five, but as the belt buckle bit into his back yet another time, and as he felt the blood starting to trickle down his back, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he knew what hatred felt like.

ooOOooOOoo

There was blood everywhere.

Harry couldn't stop crying; hadn't stopped from somewhere around strike ten and it had gone on for so much longer than that. He had begged until his throat was raw with it, and still it had gone on. His back felt like a mess; he didn't need to look to see how awful it was. He could feel it, every time he shifted to try to clean up some of the blood on the white and blue tile of the floor. And every time he did manage to scrub up some of the blood, he knew that he was leaving just a bit more behind him. It didn't help that he was on his hands and knees and he was pretty sure Uncle Vernon had pushed him down into the glass earlier, when he'd first broken it.

And then there was the cheerful sound of the television in the background. That had been going since a few minutes after he'd started screaming, and wasn't that just a lovely soundtrack? He hated his family, more than he'd ever hated anything in his admittedly young life. One day... one day... he would rise above them. Somehow, someway, he'd be better than them in the end. And he'd make sure they knew it, yes, he definitely would at that. He would...

"You're not working nearly fast enough, boy," Uncle Vernon sneered. The pain in his back flared as a heavy foot landed upon it, pressing him down to the blood-stained floor, splayed out like a bug on a slide. He cried out, and then fought off tears because his throat felt like he'd swallowed glass. And then it only got worse, because his Uncle deliberately ground his foot into his back, and Harry screamed again, unable to stop himself, no matter how much he wanted to.

Harry wished, more than he'd ever wished anything in his very short life, that his Uncle would just die. Because Aunt Petunia wasn't so terrible to him. She made him cook and clean and weed and everything, yes, and sometimes she accidentally knocked him into the hot parts of the stove, and the baths she made him take were always frigid and sometimes sent water down his throat and soap in his mouth and eyes, and sometimes the food she gave him was off and made him a little sick, but she never deliberately hurt him. She was always snapping at Uncle Vernon not to kill him, or they would come, and Harry thought that maybe if Uncle Vernon wasn't in the picture she might even be decent to him. And Dudley... well, he was a bully, there were no two ways about it. Harry knew that Dudley had tripped him just to get him punished, but maybe he'd get better without his father around leading by example. Yes, Harry wasn't stupid. He knew that his life would be much better if there wasn't a man named Vernon Dursley in it.

But Harry was only five. Wishing was futile. It didn't matter; it never mattered. He was stuck with his life exactly the way that it was, and probably would be until it killed him, literally.

"I apologize for my sloth," he whispered, trying to keep his voice from cracking any further. It wasn't easy, especially not when every word felt like it was being squeezed through sandpaper. And when his Uncle's foot lifted off his back, he tried his hardest to work faster.

Because it wasn't like he had any options, right?

ooOOooOOoo

~Filthy Muggles,~ a low voice hissed in Harry's head once he was curled up on his thin mattress under his threadbare blanket, grey from being washed so very many times. It barely did anything to keep him warm, but it was better than nothing. He thought maybe, anyway. It was all he'd ever had, at least.

His back was throbbing, it would be at least until morning, and he'd never gotten an infection before. In any case, he thought that maybe it was a bit early for an infection to be setting in, and he didn't know of any other reason that he'd be running a fever. And he had to be running a fever, and maybe be a little out of it, because why else would he be hearing voices? That was kinda strange, and little Harry didn't think he cared for that very much.

~You can hear me?~ the voice in question asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes," Harry whispered with great care, because his voice still felt like it was going to give out at any time, and saying anything at all was a bit like running bare skin against a shark's body. Painful and grating and awful. And he could still taste the blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten his cheek to try and stop screaming while Uncle Vernon was thrashing him. And that was only making everything that much worse, because Harry hated the taste of his own blood.

~Oh,~ the voice murmured, and then it began to laugh. It was a dark, scary chuckle that made Harry flinch away from the sound. But the sound was coming from inside his head, and he couldn't really get away from it. Harry didn't think that he liked that very much. ~Oh, child, if you can hear me... there's no limit to what you and I could accomplish together,~ the voice crooned, in a sickeningly sweet tone that Harry could remember hearing his Aunt use when talking to Dudley.

"I'm sorry, but I don't really know where you're coming from and I really don't know what you're talking about," Harry whispered, because whispering hurt his throat less. And even if he was more confused than anything else, it was always a good idea to be polite. Sometimes when you were polite to somebody they were kind to you, and gave you things like a free ice cream on a hot day if you looked pathetic enough. Harry had only gotten that once, though, and Aunt Petunia had caught him before he could finish it. She'd been mad, because he wasn't supposed to take charity, and Uncle had thrashed him good when he'd gotten home from work that Friday.

~It's a crime,~ the voice murmured, ~an absolute sin, that one such as yourself, hosting a being like myself, should be cowering away from those vile Muggles.~ A dark, alien set of emotions rose within Harry then; anger and hatred and an all-consuming urge to destroy his Uncle that made Harry cringe back from it. He'd felt like that earlier, a bit, and it scared him. He shouldn't hate like that, he wasn't meant to hate like that.

"Please," he whispered, begged even, not really even sure what he was asking for. It wouldn't do any good, asking never did, but he couldn't stop the plea. He curled in on himself, tucked his head under his pillow, tried to stop the barrage of alien feelings that made him think that was maybe how his Uncle felt all the time.

There was a beat while the emotions in question swelled to an ever greater presence, and then everything stopped. ~Oh, child,~ the voice murmured regretfully. ~You are... you are more connected to me than I'd realized. I hadn't intended to unnerve you like that, and I do apologize for doing so.~

Harry gasped as a warmth, just as strange and alien as the earlier hatred, welled within him. It was still strange, still so very unfamiliar, but it was so warm and wonderful and perfect, Harry thought that maybe he could wrap it around himself like a blanket and sleep with it at night. It was amazing, and he never wanted it to go away. He thought that maybe as long as that inner warmth was there he'd never be cold at night again. It was a heady thought, and he pulled his head from under his pillow and smiled up at the ceiling, because he had nowhere else to look. "Thank you," he whispered. And to make it all better, his hands and knees weren't sore any longer.

~Is that better for you, then?~ the voice asked, and Harry felt a warm breeze caressing his cheek, almost like what he thought maybe a breath against him would feel like.

Harry sagged fully into the bed and whispered, "So much better." He looked around the room again, looking for something like a shimmer or a glint or anything really to show him where the voice was coming from. But there was nothing, and so hesitantly he asked, "Where are you, anyway?" and realized as he did that both his throat and back were feeling much better.

~I am in your head, trapped here by my own doing I am afraid,~ the voice murmured, sounding regretful.

"Trapped?" Harry asked, and was delighted when speaking normally didn't make his throat hurt any longer. But then he heard the ceiling above him creak just a bit, and he remembered the other reason for not speaking loudly. Whether he could or not, he didn't want to lose that ability a second time before the night was out.

~I cut down your parents. Murdered them, really, to stop a prophecy from being fulfilled, and in the way of most prophecies, managed to bring about its fulfilment instead. You defeated me as a baby, and I've apparently been sleeping in your head ever since.~

There was a moment as Harry tried to figure out what had just been said, and then, "You... you killed my parents? You were trying to kill me?" Were it not for the fact that he didn't think he could take another strapping, Harry was pretty sure he would have been yelling at that point. He had a murderer in his head? That couldn't be a healthy thing, right? Not to mention, this... this voice claimed to have killed his parents. But... but didn't they die in a car accident? Maybe he was the other driver? But that didn't make sense; the Dursleys had told him that his parents had been drunk and at fault so...

~Your parents did not die in a car accident!~ the voice shrieked, painful in Harry's head. He flinched, covered his ears, but since the voice was inside his head it did no good.

"Sorry, please, sorry," he whispered, curling in on himself once again. And once again even in the back of his panicking mind, marvelled at the fact that already he couldn't feel the wounds on his back. They never healed that quickly. But oh god, please don't let the voice hurt him again. Harry couldn't... he just couldn't do that again.

~I apologize for losing my temper with you,~ the voice said stiffly, with only a hint of sorrow coloring his tone. Harry relaxed a bit, and the voice continued with, ~It's a crime, that you should know so little of the truth about your parents. They were my enemies, yes, but they were honorable adversaries. To be relegated to the drunken fools of a children's tale is an insult to their memory.~

"I don't..." Harry blushed, because he thought maybe he was supposed to be able to understand what the voice had said. But Harry wasn't stupid, he wasn't! He just didn't know... Actually, a lot of the things the voice said didn't make much sense to him. But he was used to not understanding what adults were saying, and he knew that the voice belonged to an adult. How could it not? It seemed to know lots more than him...

There was a sigh in his head, and then the voice murmured, sounding weary, ~Your parents were good enemies. We didn't agree, but I respected them. It's insulting to both them and myself that your Uncle lied to you about the way that they died. I killed them because of a... a prophecy. Somebody told me the future, and I had to kill them to stop it from coming true. Your mother died to protect you, child.~

"She loved me?" Harry asked in a small voice.

~More than she loved life,~ the voice confirmed.

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face that night.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry woke up in the morning, somehow he could tell that the voice was still active. It took his sleepy brain a few minutes to figure it out, but eventually he realized that the voice in question was muttering softly to itself, cursing viciously about something. He, the voice that was, didn't appear to realize that Harry was awake.

"Is something wrong?" he asked hesitantly, and he got a distinct feeling of surprise from the voice that made him giggle.

~You... are awake. Excellent. I was trying to put myself back to sleep. Being stuck as a passenger in a child's body isn't exactly stimulating for a being of my intellect, if you must know, nor do I particularly care to spend your formative years being tortured by that boorish uncle of yours.~

"Huh?" Harry asked, having only understood about one in a few words of that. He thought maybe he could get the basic gist of it, though, and he sort of felt bad for the voice. He hated his life too, after all, and didn't want anybody else to have to live like him either.

~You've got it. That's exactly what I was saying,~ the voice murmured, this time in an approving tone.

The feeling washed over Harry and he soaked it up. He'd never had anybody approve of anything he'd done before. Not even when he cleaned the bathrooms perfectly with only twenty minutes, or when he'd made that pot roast the other night, the Dursleys never approved of anything he did. It was something Harry thought that maybe he might like to get used to, but if the voice was going to go back to sleep... he shouldn't try getting used to it.

It wasn't going to last. Nothing good in his life ever did. It all went away after he got used to it. He should know better than to think that it wouldn't.

~But... it doesn't seem that I can go back to sleep, at least not right now,~ the voice murmured, ~so that leaves me with one other option. Making your circumstances better is certainly something that we can work on, don't you think?~

Making... "But what about the Dursleys? There's not much we can do with them, because they're adults and I'm just a kid. I'm not much more than a baby, even," Harry whispered. He ducked his head, a flush of shame heating his cheeks. He hated being so helpless around his Aunt and Uncle and Cousin. He hated them, too, even if he knew he shouldn't.

~You absolutely should hate them, child. And as for what we can do with them, well, there is quite a lot that I can teach you,~ the voice murmured gently to him.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before asking softly, "But what should I call you? And..." What was there to prevent the voice from betraying him? To stop the voice from murdering him like he'd murdered Harry's parents? Nothing, and there wasn't really anything he could do about that anyway. The voice was just that, a voice in his head. He couldn't do a thing about it, so he might as well be allied with it. So, he shook his head rapidly. "Never mind. What should I call you?"

~My name, child, is Tom.~


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter One-

When Harry came out of his closet that day, it was with Tom's advice sounding loudly in his ears. _**Never show them your fear**_, the spirit had counseled. _**Never show weakness**_. It sounded hard. It sounded impossible. Harry didn't necessarily want to show fear or weakness, after all, but how could he not cry when he was being struck? How could he not be afraid of his Uncle's wrath? But Tom had said... Tom had said... _**I will handle it when next you are struck**_, with a kind of cold certainty that made Harry shiver.

Tom was a murderer. Tom was a monster. Tom didn't pretend to be anything but. Harry couldn't help but wish that when he said that he would 'handle it', he meant that he would kill Uncle Vernon, and that thought made him feel a little sick. Hating like that... he shouldn't do it. It was bad, and wrong.

~They've earned your hatred, child,~ Tom murmured and sent a burst of warmth in Harry's direction.

Harry relaxed a bit as he moved to the fridge and began removing the ingredients for breakfast. Sausage and bacon and pancakes were listed on the fridge for the morning's food, and Harry began to prepare them with a speed that came from familiarity. This was routine, this was the rhythm of the morning, this he was used to. It was comforting in its routine, and he relaxed entirely as he stood at the stove flipping the meats and the pancakes.

Uncle Vernon arrived at the table first, and Harry set his plate out for him and moved swiftly out of the way. Staying within range of Uncle Vernon's fists was never a good idea. Never, not even when he wasn't in any kind of trouble. No matter what Tom promised, Harry wasn't willing to test that just yet.

~I don't blame you for that. You've been hurt quite a lot for your young years,~ the spirit within his head murmured.

Harry couldn't suppress a smile. For a murderer, Tom was awfully nice to him.

"What're you smiling about, freak?" Dudley asked, as he thumped into his seat. At five, as fat as he was and as short as he was, he looked like nothing so much as a beach ball and Harry fought down the urge to say just that. He knew exactly how that conversation would go and that it would end in another thrashing. He was recovered from the last but that didn't mean he was ready to court another so soon. So he bit his lip and settled Dudley's plate in front of him.

~What did I promise you, child? I will handle it should anything happen. Go on, say what you're thinking,~ Tom encouraged.

Harry glanced warily at his Uncle, then said quietly, "I was thinking that you looked like a beach ball." And then, horrified by his own nerve, he turned back to the stove as though he hadn't just said it and heard Uncle Vernon's fork clatter against his plate. He could hear Aunt Petunia moving about upstairs, no doubt putting her face together, and settled her plate in its spot before turning back to the stove once more. Maybe if he acted like he hadn't...

No such luck. "What did you just say, Boy?" Uncle Vernon shouted, and Harry didn't have to turn to know that his Uncle was already going purple in the face. Really, the man was at a very unhealthy weight, he should watch his temper or he might have a heart attack. Even Harry knew that being that weight wasn't healthy or safe.

~So tell him so,~ Tom suggested. Harry's eyes widened at the thought. Sassing off directly to Uncle Vernon? That was... that was suicide. Uncle Vernon would kill him, and rightfully so. He was just a burden, a useless freak that took their valuable money and gave them nothing back for it. He should be ashamed at even thinking anything ill of his Aunt and Uncle, he should apologize, beg for forgiveness, not be so awful towards his cousin, towards his Uncle that he need to be punished. It was all his fault. ~No!~

Tom's shout hurt Harry's head, and he flinched from it. ~No, child,~ Tom continued, more gentle than he had now that he had the boy's attention. ~They are the ones in the wrong. You are well within your rights to hate them, to want them to hurt. There isn't a soul in the universe that could blame you for wanting revenge on them for the appalling way in which you've been treated.~

Harry's hands were frozen over the skillet as he considered what Tom was saying. Eventually, the smell of burning food reached his nose and he automatically turned off the heat before the contents of the skillet could burn further. Not that Dudley would care, the pig would probably eat it anyway. More importantly... he was allowed to hate the Dursleys? That didn't... that didn't make sense. He should be grateful. They'd given him a home, they'd given him clothing, they'd fed him...

~They give you the scraps from their table they wouldn't feed a dog! The clothing they give you isn't fit for washrags, and still you defend them? Child, you are far too good for this Earth,~ Tom murmured. And then, after a moment's consideration, added, ~And possibly far too good for the conversation I must have with your Uncle. Very well then, time to attempt an experiment.~

Harry felt something shoving against the back of his mind, like something pushing on his head. He struggled against the alien feeling, closing his eyes and fighting it. "Stop it," he whispered, raising one shaking hand to his forehead. His scar was suddenly burning and felt like it was about to split open. A drop of blood spattered on the tiled floor that he'd spent so much time wiping down last night. He didn't like this at all.

~Just let it happen, child. Relax yourself, let me into your mind,~ Tom murmured, and Harry stopped fighting the shoving feeling.

Immediately his view shifted, and it was as though he was looking over his own shoulder. It was a strange thing to see, and he blinked and shook his head to clear it. But his head didn't move at all, making Harry just a bit dizzy.

~Wh-what happened?~ he asked, only to have his lips not move and his voice sound in echoes within his own head.

"Answer me, you little freak! What did you say about my son?" Uncle Vernon roared, and Harry flinched in fear within his mind. Uncle Vernon was angry, and Harry wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. It wouldn't help, but he wanted to do it just the same. And now he wasn't even in control of his own body and there was nothing he could do.

~We've switched places,~ Tom murmured. ~Now hush, child, and allow me to demonstrate the proper handling of a beast such as your Uncle.~

Harry's body moved then, jerkily stepping down from the footstool he used to reach the stove. "You should watch your temper, Muggle scum," Harry's voice crooned, in the same sickening tone Tom had used with Harry when they'd first spoken last night.

"What did you just call me?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, raising one hand as though intending to strike.

Harry felt something within him stretch, and then his own hand was reaching out and squeezing into a fist in the air, and Harry could feel something connecting squeezing into something as well. After a heartbeat of consideration, he thought maybe it felt like a fist closed around a fluttering bird. Uncle Vernon went white, dropped to his knees clutching desperately at his chest.

"You should watch your temper, Muggle," Tom said in the most cool, unaffected tone that Harry had ever heard. "You're dangerously overweight, I wouldn't want you to have a heart attack," he continued. He went over to the table, took Aunt Petunia's still-untouched plate of food from it and began walking towards Harry's cupboard. "I think you'll find that I'm not quite the same as I've always been. You would do well to have a care with your treatment of me from now on, Uncle," Tom added, just before closing the door to the cupboard behind them. Harry felt something else swell within him, a burst of energy just as the door closed, heard Tom muttering something softly, but before he could ask Tom was hastily setting the food on the neatly-made cot and then...

...and then Harry felt something within him release and suddenly he was back in control of his own body and he was going limp, falling to his knees, entire body trembling with exhaustion. "What did you do?" he whispered, horrified.

~Don't worry, child, he'll be fine. But he should think twice before treating us in such a way again,~ Tom answered, sounding incredibly satisfied with himself.

"You took... you took food from them! They'll..."

~They'll do nothing. And you need to eat. We just used a lot of energy with that stunt.~ Tom spoke matter-of-factly, and Harry could feel his stomach rumbling at the smell of the food. It probably didn't help that he hadn't had dinner last night... or lunch or breakfast for that matter. So yes, he was very hungry. ~Monsters,~ Tom grumbled in the back of his mind. ~Go on and eat, before one of them gets the idea to try and come after you.~

"What do you mean, try?" Harry asked. He moved carefully towards his cot, for once very grateful that his cupboard was so small. It meant that he didn't have to try and stand, he could just shift over a bit and there was food, right within his reach. Never mind that he could barely hold his fork up, much less the plate. He ate slowly and carefully, trying not to just gobble it all down. He didn't want to sick it back up, after all.

Tom was chuckling darkly in his head. ~I meant exactly what I said, before one of them gets the idea to try. The door won't open for them, not any longer. That last burst of magic? I was warding the door. So good luck to them, trying to get in here to punish you. They won't be able to enter until we're ready for them to do so.~ Tom's laugh took on an even more sinister tone. ~In fact, I kind of hope that they do try. They'll enjoy the surprise I've left for them.~

And by them enjoying it, Harry had no doubt that Tom actually meant that he would. The sinister wording left no illusions; Tom had done something awful to Harry's door. But... but magic? Tom... no, Uncle Vernon said that there was no such thing as magic.

But once Tom was finished speaking, there was a loud banging on the closet door. "Why won't this blasted door open?" Harry heard Uncle Vernon snarl, and then there was a bright flash of red light and the sound of something thudding against the far wall.

~Next time, it won't take nearly so long for the wards to kick in,~ Tom murmured. And exactly as he said, the doorknob rattled once more, and then there was another flash of light followed by a high pitched shriek that Harry recognized as belonging to his Aunt followed by another thud.

Harry finished his food, feeling safe and secure for the first time ever in his young life. Even if he didn't know what Tom had done or how he'd done it, "Thank you, Tom," he whispered, once he'd swallowed the last piece of bacon. He was a little thirsty, but was too contented to worry about it just then.

~You need to sleep now,~ Tom whispered, and Harry nodded. His eyelids were heavy; he could barely stand to keep them open. ~No, no, I need you to get up and into the bed. You may be young, but your body still won't thank you for sleeping in such an awkward position.~

Harry yawned and struggled to his feet, and then managed to collapse into the bed. The threadbare blanket was trapped beneath him, but he hardly felt its lack. "Why'm I so..." he paused to yawn, and then continued with, "tired?"

~It's the magic use,~ Tom responded. ~You're far too young for me to be using your powers in such a way, and I'll have to be far more careful in the future. The ward I cast was a bit too strong, much stronger than what was necessary. I'll remember that for next time. I apologize~

Harry smiled sleepily. "S'okay," he muttered, and then he knew no more as his eyes finally slipped shut and he lost his battle with wakefulness.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry came back to himself with a feeling of sleepy, warm contentment. He hummed softly curled in on himself, and fought waking up. It was so nice to be able to wake slowly, to be able to just lay still and not have to worry about getting up, about making breakfast, about being hungry... he just wasn't ready to move just yet, that was all. And who could blame him?

~There's not a soul out there that could,~ Tom said. ~However, I am of the opinion that you should rouse yourself soon. Your bladder is going to explode if you don't, and I'd imagine you're also very thirsty.~ He sounded like he was laughing, and Harry thought that maybe he would sometime soon be able to get used to the feeling of Tom laughing in his head. It was a nice feeling.

But still... now that Tom had mentioned it, "That was mean, Tom," Harry muttered. He could feel the pressure of his bladder, now, and the scratchiness of his throat. He was thirsty, maybe thirsty enough to drink a whole liter of water... probably not. That would be a lot of water. Either way, his feeling of contentment was rapidly diminishing.

~My apologies,~ Tom answered, sounding anything but apologetic.

Harry grumbled as he slipped out of bed. His knees were still a bit shaky, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been when he'd gone to sleep. It seemed more like the floppiness of finally getting enough sleep after who knew how long. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed to sleep as long as he wanted to. He owed Tom a lot, he thought, and didn't know how he could begin repaying the spirit.

~You owe me... actually, yes, let's go with that,~ Tom said smugly. ~And you can start repaying me by getting yourself to the bathroom before you make a mess of yourself.~ And with that charming thought, Tom fell silent within Harry's mind.

Harry paled at the thought and slipped from the cupboard, for once not even remembering to check and see if any of the Dursleys were nearby. They weren't, thank God, and Harry crept along until he made it to the bathroom. He couldn't hear anybody within the house, and thought that maybe they'd left for the day. What time was it, anyway?

~You were asleep for a little over a day,~ Tom responded. ~I would have woken you sooner, but you really did need the rest. I overdid it more than I'd thought I had,~ and now the apology in his voice was genuine, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"It's okay," he whispered shyly, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. "I don't... I don't mind. You were only trying to help, after all."

He went over to the toilet, then, and pulled down his pants and... couldn't. He flushed, because even though his bladder was uncomfortably full, he couldn't make himself... not with Tom there and awake and watching and... ~I'm not looking,~ Tom protested, laughing. ~I don't really have any interest in your bodily functions, child!~

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to imagine that Tom wasn't there and hadn't just been talking to him and he was alone and it was okay. And then, relieved, he flushed the toilet and pulled up his pants and washed his hands. "Hopefully that will get easier," he muttered, still blushing. It was hard not to forget that Tom was there, and Harry wasn't looking forward to going through that litany every time he had to relieve himself. The whole thing was a bit embarrassing.

And somewhat daunting, now that he stopped to think about it. Tom would _always be there_. When Harry got the chance to take a bath? Tom would be there. When Harry needed to use the restroom? Tom would be there. When Harry was older and maybe met a girl? Tom would be there. He would see everything, know everything, _be there_ for every part of Harry's life. It was a terrifying thought, now that Harry was allowing himself to think it.

~I could try and go back to sleep,~ Tom offered. There was an edge to his voice, though, a sort of bitterness that left a sharp tang in Harry's mouth.

"No!" Harry protested, knowing that just wasn't an option. "You can't, please, don't leave me alone again," he begged, knees giving out at the thought of being left alone by Tom. "I can't do this on my own, not anymore," he babbled, back pressed against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. His eyes blurred with tears at the very thought, and he tried his hardest to fight them off. Tom didn't like it when he cried, said that crying was a sign of weakness, and that Harry shouldn't be weak. But Harry was afraid that he was weak without Tom there, and the thought of being alone again... Harry just couldn't.

He felt that warm, safe, wonderful feeling welling up within him once more. ~I'm not intending on going anywhere, child,~ Tom crooned. ~I shouldn't have said that. It was an idle threat.~

Harry sagged in relief at the gently spoken reassurance, let his head thump gently against the wall. "Thank you," he whispered, unable to speak any louder than that for the choking in his voice.

They sat in silence for several moments, then, Harry relishing the warmth that Tom somehow wrapped around him, and Tom simply allowing it. Eventually, though, Harry's dry throat and rumbling stomach called him back to the real world, and he struggled to his feet once more.

"Are the Dursleys even here?" he asked as he made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a tall glass of water and guzzled it down before refilling it and setting it at the table.

~What makes you think that I know?~ Tom asked. Or care, his tone added. Harry settled himself at the table and sipped at his water. His chore list, normally posted on the front of the fridge, was surprisingly absent. Harry marvelled over that before Tom bit out, ~And aren't you going to eat something?~

Take food from the Dursleys? He was already going to be in so much trouble for the stunt that he'd pulled yester... wait... no, Tom wasn't going to let them hurt him. He could... he absolutely could go and take food. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that Tom would be more angry if he didn't take food.

~Yes, Harry, that's correct,~ Tom muttered. ~You need to make sure that you eat regularly. You're far too thin for a child of your age, and magic requires a lot of energy. If you aren't eating regularly, I won't be able to cast to protect you, and I won't be able to teach you everything you need to know.~ There was that word again. Magic. But magic wasn't real, Uncle Vernon had said. And Aunt Petunia agreed with him, and why would they lie? _ But they had lied_, a little voice whispered inside of him, and Harry pushed it away. Food!

"Then... I guess I should go make a sandwich!" Harry said brightly, tickled at the thought. He'd never made himself a sandwich before. For Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley, yes, but never just for himself. He was lucky most of the time if he got a slice of bread, much less two with something on them as well.

He felt a hint of the murderous rage he'd felt before from Tom that vanished in the face of his rather childlike delight at the thought of being able to make a sandwich. It was nice to know that he could affect Tom as well as Tom being able to affect him, even if Tom probably didn't like to think about it that way.

It only took him a few minutes to prepare the sandwich in question, and Harry settled himself back at the table and stared at it for a few minutes. It looked too good to eat! Bread, and meat, and cheese, and veggies, and a tall glass of milk to go with his tall glass of water... it was a feast! He couldn't possibly eat it, it was too nice looking to...

~Would you just eat, child?~ Tom asked, exasperated.

And Harry laughed before taking a bite of his sandwich. It was every bit as delicious as it had looked, too.

ooOOooOOoo

He was just finishing up his sandwich when his Aunt and Uncle both came through the door, which was odd because it was a workday. Uncle Vernon should still have been at Grunnings, definitely. There were still a few crumbs on his plate, and Harry was chasing them with his finger and contemplating going for another sandwich, even though he wasn't really hungry and couldn't actually imagine eating anything more, when they walked into the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon saw him sitting at the table, the empty plate before him, and the crumbs on the empty plate, and his face turned purple. "Just what do you-"

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia hissed, and elbowed her husband sharply in the gut. "We talked about this," she continued, eyeing Harry meaningfully.

Uncle Vernon subsided, but didn't stop glowering at Harry. "I don't like it, Pet," he muttered.

"Neither do I, but the freak's capable of just about anything. We don't want... we don't want to be hurt," she whispered back, sounding as though she were trying to be brave.

"I can hear you, you know," Harry pointed out when Tom prompted him to do so. "And you aren't endearing yourselves to me at all right now." Actually, it was kind of funny to hear them being so afraid of him, like he still was of them, and that made him feel bad. He shouldn't be happy that others were suffering.

~You should be happy that these pitiful examples of Muggle filth are suffering,~ Tom protested. ~They deserve every bit of suffering I can cause, and then some more for good measure. What monsters, to mistreat a child in such a way. Even at my darkest, I never would have dreamed of mistreating a child.~

"No, you just left them orphaned and alone," Harry shot back, and then went white. He shouldn't have said that, and definitely not aloud judging by the puzzled looks on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's faces. Tom was going to be so angry. He was going to leave again. He was...

He was... laughing? ~Touche, my dear child,~ Tom chuckled. ~I don't even have an appropriate argument for that.~

"What are you talking about b- Harry?" Uncle Vernon asked through gritted teeth.

"Just talking to myself," Harry answered, and hopped down from his chair. He took his plate and two glasses over to the sink and rinsed all three off before popping them into the dish rack to dry. He slipped from the room, then, and was over at his cupboard door before either Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could think of a response.

He'd only just opened it when he heard Aunt Petunia shout, "Wait!" and his hand froze on the handle instinctively. Aunt Petunia shouting was never a good thing. Either of his Aunt or Uncle shouting generally meant that pain was following, even if Aunt Petunia wasn't as quick to hurt him as Uncle Vernon was.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" he asked, expecting perhaps for his list of chores to be assigned. He hoped not. He was still a little tired and shaky from earlier, and he didn't want to be thrashed when he failed to complete his tasks in a timely fashion. Not again.

~If that's what they want, they're in for another rude surprise,~ Tom grumbled. ~They should make their own spawn do some work instead of dumping it all on you. Or even, you know, do some of the work themselves!~

Harry didn't disagree, but he did think that maybe Tom was being a little unfair. After all, he'd never tried to get Dudley to do something he didn't want to. The boy was a menace! He could throw temper tantrums that Harry truly was jealous of, they were so impressive. And Uncle Vernon did work hard all day long, so Harry couldn't blame him for being tired after he got home from work.

~Far, far too good for this world, but this is a conversation for another time,~ Tom was murmuring, but Harry's attention was focused on his Aunt, who seemed to be fidgeting a bit.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" he asked again, and she startled a bit.

"You're... well, you're going to be six very soon, and..." She stopped, took a deep breath, and began once more. "Since you're going to be six soon, your Uncle and I have been talking, and we think that maybe your cupboard is getting to be a bit snug for you. So we've cleaned out Dudley's second bedroom for you so that you have a bigger space of your own," she said, and then she was looking down and away, and Harry realized that she was trembling. She was frightened of him. Terrified.

What had that... that ward of Tom's done to them? Tom was very suspiciously not responding to the question, so Harry thought that maybe he didn't actually want to know. Instead of focusing on the question, he chose to focus on the wonderful news that he had his own room. He hadn't ever thought... well, he'd never thought he'd someday get to live in his very own bedroom!

"Thank you so much!" Harry burst out, and offered his Aunt a blinding smile. He couldn't help it, he was just so excited at the thought of having his own room. He'd been pretty sure he was going to live in the cupboard under the stairs until he was old and grey.

She, on the other hand, looked like she was about to be sick. "Really, it's the least we can do," she whispered, and then she was turning, running away from him. Fleeing from him, as though he were some kind of monster.

And to think, just a few days ago he'd thought it would be nice to have the Dursleys terrified of him. Now he wasn't sure that he liked it at all.

~Yes, but if they weren't so afraid of you, you wouldn't have had that delicious sandwich earlier. You wouldn't have a room of your own to go and explore. You would still be doing all of their work instead of learning from me,~ Tom threw out there, and Harry's eyes widened.

He went up the stairs, managed to hold himself in until he was all alone in his brand new room, and then burst out, "Learning from you?" He bounced in place, excited beyond belief. A room of his own, with a bed and sheets and blankets and a pillow! An actual pillow that wasn't beaten down into nothingness by years of wear and tear! And a window to look out of, and a desk to write at, oh, this was wonderful!

~It's still secondhand crap,~ Tom was growling in the back of Harry's mind, but Harry didn't care!

"But it's my secondhand crap," Harry shot back, even though he wasn't entirely sure what the phrase he'd just repeated meant. It was his, and that was all that mattered. If Tom didn't like it, well, he could just keep quiet! Harry was too excited to be brought down by Tom.

Tom let out a heavy sigh, and Harry could almost feel his breath against his skin. It made him giggle, it tickled just a bit. ~Right. So I'll keep quiet about the state of your room, and I don't expect it to stay like this for too long anyway. And as for what I'm going to teach you, I'd thought you'd have guessed by now: I'm going to teach you magic, among other things,~ Tom said, redirecting Harry from his excitement over his room.

"Magic?" Harry whispered, then glanced fearfully around his new room. Which was ridiculous, because Uncle Vernon was downstairs; he could hear the telly going in the living room. "Uncle Vernon says there's no such thing as magic. Aunt Petunia agrees."

~Uncle...~ Tom bit off something that sounded suspiciously like another curse word. ~Child, I told you earlier that what I was doing that was making you so exhausted was magic. Did you not catch that?~

"No I..." Harry stopped, considered, and then said quietly, "Well, no, I mean I heard it but... but magic isn't real! But... how else could you have... oh." He paused, let the thought of magic... magic! sink in a bit more, and then said quietly, "So you're a... a wizard? Or you were. Before you, you know, killed my parents and died."

~Yes, Harry,~ Tom murmured with what sounded like a great deal of forced patience. ~I am a wizard, a very powerful one, and so are you.~ And then, through gritted teeth, ~In fact, I believe that you may even be more powerful than I was before I passed on.~

Harry let out a little gasp, then immediately felt like an idiot. Of course he had to be a wizard to, Tom had said that he was using Harry's magic earlier and that was what made him so tired.

~Glad you're keeping up,~ Tom said dryly. ~When you are eleven, you will enter the wizarding world for the first time. I would show you how to do it sooner, but I'm concerned that it would be a bit dangerous for one such as yourself. The one who managed to slay me would have attracted quite a bit of notoriety, I'm sure. So for now your instruction shall be mostly theoretical, as you are far too young to manage wandless, wordless magic without my own interference.~

Harry was nodding rapidly, giving himself a headache. But he couldn't stop, because he wanted Tom to be absolutely sure that Harry understood what he was saying. Because if Harry was a bad student, Tom might stop. And Harry wanted to know all there was to know about magic and wizards and everything else that came with it. He didn't want to make a fool of himself when he finally was allowed to enter the wizarding world.

~Never fear, child. You will be the most well-educated, Muggle raised halfblood that ever walked the earth. I will see to that myself. And when you do finally enter the wizarding world and attend Hogwarts, you will be a credit to your line and your House.~

"I'll be the best student I can for you, Tom," Harry whispered. And he meant, it, too, with everything in his heart. He would study and learn so that he could be great. Like Tom, who had clearly once been a great wizard, if not infallible. And being taught by Tom would let Harry learn from the other's own mistakes, so that he didn't repeat them.

What better goal could he have?

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, you guys all rock! Also, just a heads up, next chapter we're playing hopscotch through time, until we reach the events directly leading up to Hogwarts. Hope you're all enjoying this!**


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Heir

Chapter Two-

Dudley had never caught on to the new power dynamic within the household, it seemed, Harry mused as he sprinted through the empty parking lot at top speed. They were chasing him, Dudley and his gang of rotten little snots. He supposed he could stop, could let them catch up to him, could let Tom handle it, but Harry didn't really think that was fair. It would be overkill. Tom was, after all, a many-years-older murderer, and Dudley and his lot were just bullies.

~Bullies that I would be more than happy to deal with in your stead, child,~ Tom pointed out. ~I wouldn't even necessarily kill them. I have many years practice dealing with rotten little monsters like them from my own youth.~

It had been a little over a year since Tom had awoken within Harry, and Harry thought that they were getting along very well for two people stuck sharing one body. He himself adored Tom, even if Tom were a bit meaner than he would have liked. And Tom should know better than to think that Harry was actually going to let Tom take over to take the situation in hand.

~Fine, fine, if you're going to be all noble about it, perhaps now is time to practice that bit of magic I taught you the other day?~ Tom suggested.

~I thought you said that was something I should save for an emergency, because I'm so young and it could hurt me to...~ Harry cast about for the word, then came up with, ~Apparate! To Apparate safely!~ He'd long since mastered the art of talking to Tom in his head, rather than aloud. It was a necessary skill, especially since it freaked out both his Aunt and Uncle to see him talking aloud to himself. And no matter how much he disliked them, he didn't necessarily want to frighten them. It wasn't as much fun as he'd thought it would be, after all. Also, school was dead boring and easy, and it helped to have Tom to talk to instead of staring at his already completed work.

Harry could feel Tom considering in his head, an odd sensation that he was still getting used to after all this time, and then, ~You are, and it is, but still. You are very powerful, child, and I would like to see if you can do it. Also, it's a good skill to have in an emergency. Once we know you can do it, that's one less concern for us both.~

~If you insist,~ Harry muttered, as though discontented. But he knew that Tom didn't believe him, and he didn't even believe himself. He was excited! This would be his first time practicing magic on his own, after all, without Tom being in control of his body! Tom had already done so much magic for him, shown him all sorts of transfigurations and charms and runes and the like when he fixed up Harry's room for him, but that had been Tom using Harry's body, not Harry trying anything on his own. So yeah, he was a little excited.

He stopped running, then, and closed his eyes and concentrated. He reached into the wellspring of magic that Tom had shown him only a few months ago, and pulled, and opened his eyes just in time to see Dudley's gang disappear before him. Suddenly he was on the roof, and looking down at them from his new lofty height rather than over at them, and he grinned ecstatically. ~Tom, Tom, I did it! Did you see me? Did you? Were you watching?~

~Of course I was watching, you nitwit. And I did see, and it was very well done,~ Tom murmured, and Harry smiled to feel Tom's approval welling up within him once more. That was a feeling that never got old.

Now there was just one small problem. ~Tom? How do I get down from here?~

Tom's chuckling was contagious, and Harry couldn't help but laugh along with him.

ooOOooOOoo

Of course the laughter couldn't last, not when he had to be helped down by the firemen and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon arrived at the scene. Vernon waited until they were in the car, and then he turned in the driver's seat and glared at Harry, his face turning purple. His spittle flew out and struck Harry in the face when he hissed at him, "Listen here you little freak, if you ever do something like that again-"

Harry took a mental step back, as Tom had taught him to do, and then he was looking over his own shoulder once more as Tom took control. "You'll what, Muggle? Die, for the crime of angering me? Why yes you most certainly will."

Harry could feel his face morphing into a sneer, the kind that Tom seemed to wear so well but Harry could never quite pull off, and he giggled mentally. He always looked like an idiot when he tried to match that expression. Maybe it was because nobody could be scary when making faces in the mirror? ~Stop that, child, you're distracting me,~ Tom murmured, and Harry immediately tried to stifle his giggles. But it was hard to do, when acting as a being purely of thought.

The car screeched into the house's driveway, and Vernon threw it into park before getting out of the car and grabbing Harry from it as well. He wrenched Harry's arm viciously as he did so, and Harry was surprised to note that he didn't feel any pain while Tom was in control of his body. He was sort of glad, because he remembered how badly that sort of thing hurt, but then he felt bad for Tom, who didn't deserve to be hurt while he was trying to help Harry.

"I've had just about enough of you," Vernon was hissing in his ear as he dragged them along inside the house. "You steal our food, you take up space in our home, you use our clothing, and now you act like this in public? I-"

Vernon cut off, his face going white as Tom squeezed his fist around his heart once more. Harry remembered this feeling from a little over a year ago, when Tom had first taken over his body. He just hoped that Tom wasn't actually going to kill Uncle Vernon. Harry would feel awful if he did.

"I've had just about enough of you, Muggle. So listen to me very carefully," Tom hissed, leaning over the prone Dursley the way that Uncle Vernon liked to loom over Harry. "You will stop attempting to injure me, keep your hellspawn from doing the same, and you will let me live in peace. In return for this simple set of behaviors, I won't kill you. Hurt me again, however, and all bets are off. Do you understand me?"

"yes," Vernon croaked out, clutching desperately at his chest.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that," Tom sang, smirking cruelly.

"He said yes, you monster!" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

At the same time, Harry called out mentally, ~Tom, please!~

Tom released Vernon and stepped over his prone form. "We're done here, then."

It was a sign of how far he'd come, magically speaking, that when Harry took back his body he didn't feel weak at all. He still remembered collapsing when Tom had first used magic in his form. It was nice to know he wasn't so vulnerable any longer, even if he thought that maybe Tom went a little overboard with his protections.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was eight, and it was Christmastime, and Harry couldn't stop crying. Tom was so good to him, so nice and kind and... well, a monster to everyone else and Harry had forgotten... he'd really forgotten why Tom had to be such a monster all the time. Now that the Dursleys were... well, they weren't nice to him, but they didn't hurt him any longer, it was easy to forget.

~I'll kill her, Harry,~ Tom was whispering in his mind. ~Rip her limb from limb, destroy her, feed her to her precious dogs. Feed her the bloody dog biscuits, in Merlin's name, just let me out!~ Tom shoved mightily against the walls of Harry's mind, but Harry was too well trained, and by Tom himself, to let that happen.

The once-Dark Lord couldn't break through. "I don't want you to kill her," Harry managed to sniffle out, even though he wasn't quite sure that he believed it himself. He was in his room, thankfully, and the door was closed and there was nobody around to hear him anyway. The Dursleys and Aunt Marge had gone out for an early Christmas Eve supper, to be followed by a midnight service at the local cathedral. The Dursleys weren't religious, but for whatever reason they always went on Christmas and Easter. Harry had never been invited, so he didn't understand what the fuss was about.

~Then I won't kill her,~ Tom answered. ~I'll just hurt her a little bit. Use some of those darker spells that I haven't demonstrated for you yet,~ he said in his most reasonable tone.

"The ones that you can't show me without a wand because they're just too much trouble?" Harry asked, because he could remember that conversation from just last month. Not that he was particularly interested in causing excruciating pain for anyone or taking their will away or killing them instantly. All three of those options just seemed... excessive.

~Sometimes excess is a good thing,~ Tom murmured. ~And yes, okay, they are too much trouble for this. At least while you're so young, anyway. As you grow, as your power grows with you, it won't be nearly so hard to pull the curses in question off. But... you should at least let me do something to her,~ the Dark Lord wheedled.

It was hard to take him seriously when he whined like a child, and Harry told him so, a smile breaking over his face. Perhaps that had been Tom's intention all along, because he had to know that Harry wasn't actually going to let Tom kill anybody. They had a deal, after all. As long as Harry wasn't actively being injured, Tom wasn't allowed to hurt anyone. It seemed fair enough, and Tom was good enough to honor it, now that they'd mostly cowed the Dursleys into submission.

~Well, if you'd just give me what I wanted, I wouldn't be whining at you,~ Tom pointed out. ~But I can feel that I'm beating my mental head bloody against your brick wall of a will. So fine, I won't kill her, I won't even hurt her, but may I at least frighten her tonight?~

Harry knew it was a terrible idea, even as he agreed, but he agreed anyway because he adored Tom, and Tom already curbed his most destructive impulses for Harry, so couldn't he give a little bit as well?

So it was that they wound up in Aunt Marge's room around three o'clock in the morning, their eyes glowing bright red as they always did when Tom was in control, the illusion of flames flickering around their feet and hands, in a halo on their head and in wings sprouting from their back, and licking over Marge's sleeping body.

"Marjorie Dursley," Tom intoned in a deep, gravelly voice that would have frightened Harry if he hadn't known who it was.

Aunt Marge startled awake, and then she screamed. She kept on screaming as Tom settled the box of dog biscuits she'd given Harry on her stomach, then seemed to fade into the darkness. He left the illusory flames going, and only extinguished them once her lights flicked on and Uncle Vernon barged into the room.

As he crept out, they heard Uncle Vernon asking, "What is it, Marge?"

And all Aunt Marge could stutter out was, "M-m-monster!"

She was gone before breakfast Christmas morning. Harry couldn't fight down his smug smile as he took his plate up to his room, as was his custom these days.

ooOOooOOoo

Of course, Harry mused, if he'd let Tom kill her two Christmases ago, he wouldn't currently be stuck in a tree. Of all the places, a tree.

"Really?" he asked himself as he stared in consternation at Ripper the dog, growling fiercely at him. Sure, Ripper was just a small, if vicious, dog, and Harry was nine and should be able to handle this on his own, but...

~My offer stands,~ Tom said cheerily. His litany of laughter had stopped about two hours ago, and the sun was getting ready to set. And Aunt Marge showed no signs whatsoever of calling her dog off.

"It's a dog, Tom, not really a threat," Harry said patiently. Tom had, for the most part, stopped offering to kill things for Harry a long time ago. He knew that Harry wouldn't take him up on the offer, knew that the most he would get was a chance to scare somebody a little bit, and there wasn't even much need for that any longer. The Dursleys were still pretty much leaving Harry to his own devices, minus a few incidents with Uncle Vernon that seemed to be increasing alarmingly in number every year, and Harry had mostly gotten over the terror of his first few years with them. Tom made, surprisingly enough, a great person to talk to on those rare occasions when he still woke screaming with the memories of his Uncle's belt.

~You've been up here for five hours, Harry,~ Tom pointed out. ~And as you thought earlier, dear Aunt Marge shows no signs of calling the dog off.~

"You couldn't just scare him off?" Harry asked, knowing full well that it was well within Tom's powers to get rid of the dog without killing him.

~I could, but I won't. If you let me handle this, Harry, I'm going to handle it in my own way. After all, I let you do things the way you wished with Marge last time, and now we've wound up with even more trouble from the bitch. I promise you that if you let me do things my way this time, she'll never have another word to say to us again.~

Harry hesitated still, but then he closed his eyes. This was making more work for Tom, too, and that wasn't fair either. He didn't deserve to have to do twice the work just to protect Harry from one stupid old woman. "All right, then," he whispered, and took a mental step back before he could change his mind.

"I don't mind protecting you, you know," Tom said with Harry's voice, even as he hopped nimbly from the tree. "I just don't like it when you try and tell me the best ways to do things. Do keep in mind that even though I share your body, I am in fact a sixty year old man."

~Because that's not creepy at all,~ Harry muttered, and watched with a sort of horrified fascination as Ripper lunged for Tom. Part of him was begging the dog not to do it, the other was watching in a sort of gleeful trance.

Tom pointed one finger at the dog and Harry watched as a bit of green energy began to form at his fingertip. Ton concentrated fiercely, and then the green light was shooting from his finger and striking the dog. The dog fell dead, and Tom smirked. "See? Not nearly so bad as you thought," he murmured, and then began to move their body towards the house. "And much easier than I'd thought it would be, as well."

~Wait, what are you doing?~ Harry asked, panicked. ~You said you wouldn't-~

"And I won't," Tom soothed. "I just didn't think that you'd want to deal with the conversation I'm about to have."

Considering that Tom's definition of a 'conversation' was to exchange not-so-veiled threats with people, Harry thought that to be a perfectly accurate statement and didn't protest any longer. They entered the house, where Marge and the rest of Harry's family had just apparently noticed that Ripper was no longer barking, judging by the way that she'd half stood and the others were looking confused.

"You, boy, what did you do to... what's wrong with your eyes?" Marge gasped out, suddenly noticing the bright red of Harry's eyes.

Tom smirked. "My eyes get like this when I'm offended. Or angry. As to your dog, well..." Here his smirk morphed into something more... sinister. Harry still hadn't mastered that more sinister expression, though he did finally have Tom's smirk down. Tom had assured him it would be a useful thing to know later in his life. Harry wasn't sure about that, but was willing to take Tom's word.

"Y-you! What did you do to him?" Marge sputtered, hands clenching convulsively into fists. She took a single step forward, only to have her brother grab her by the arm. "What?" she snarled, turning on her brother.

"You don't... you don't want to threaten him, Marge," Vernon cautioned, looking a little pale at the thought. It was clear that he was remembering the most recent time that he'd confronted Harry when his eyes glowed red like this. He rubbed at his chest absently, and Tom took care to send a wink in his direction, making Vernon blanch further.

"Don't I?" she asked, her own face purpling as Vernon's so often did. "Because if he's done anything to Ripper, I'll rip the little shit limb from limb," she snarled.

Harry thought about how eerie it was that Tom apparently sounded like Marge when he was angry. ~That's a horrifying thought, child, and I will thank you to never think it again,~ Tom muttered. And then, aloud, Tom said, "But Aunt Marge, I didn't do anything to your dog. I am, after all, a mere child. What could I have possibly done to a beast like your dearly departed Ripper?"

Despite the cocky confidence in his tone, Harry was noticing something off about Tom and...oh. ~Tom,~ Harry thought urgently. Their hands were trembling, and he could feel exhaustion dragging at his body in a way that he hadn't felt it in years. ~Tom, we're-~

~I know, child, I know. But this must be done. We'll be just fine,~ Tom promised, and Tom had never once broken a promise to Harry, so Harry relaxed.

"Dearly... dearly departed?" Marge asked, slowly sinking down into the chair. "What do you... what do you mean?"

"Perhaps he simply couldn't handle the strain," Tom said breezily. He began to walk, then, slowly and purposefully towards the stairs leading to the second floor. "Perhaps if you'd called him off sooner, his poor little heart wouldn't have given out on him, and you wouldn't have lost your dog," he threw over his shoulder.

Harry had never felt more guilty than when he heard Marge begin to cry great, despairing sobs. It wasn't fair, what they'd done to Ripper. Tom shouldn't have... no, Harry shouldn't have let Tom do that.

"She wouldn't have shown you the same consideration," Tom pointed out quietly as he opened the door to their room.

~That's what makes us different than her,~ Harry insisted, as Tom changed their clothing into a pair of ratty old pajamas and settled them under the covers. ~If we act the same as her, how can we claim to hate her for the way that she acts?~

Tom was very quiet, and then, in a soft voice that Harry had never heard directed at him, the Dark Lord asked, "Are you accusing me of being a hypocrite?"

For the first time in a very long time, Harry was a little afraid of Tom. It was easy to forget that Tom was a murderer, a monster, when Tom was just protecting Harry. But now, with his voice so soft, and his anger licking at the edges of Harry's consciousness like flames, Harry was petrified. ~I... no?~ he offered, and knew that if he were in control of his own body, he would be shaking just then. He didn't like it when Tom was angry with him, not at all.

Tom abruptly returned control of Harry's body to him, leaving Harry with a sense of bone-deep exhaustion. His eyes drifted closed against his will, even though he didn't want to go to sleep with Tom still mad at him. Because he could still feel that Tom was furious, and he wanted Tom not to be, and he'd take it all back, he would, really, he hadn't meant it. His panic was waking him up a bit, at least.

~No, stop, don't. You need to sleep. And...~ Tom paused, weighty and unhappy, and then, ~and you may be right,~ Tom said begrudgingly. ~Perhaps I am a bit hypocritical. But I'll deny that till my dying day,~ he said, before Harry could say anything else.

Before Harry could say anything cheeky, like, he'd already had his dying day, Harry's eyes were slipping closed and he was falling fast asleep.

ooOOooOOoo

It was Dudley's eleventh birthday, and they were just back from the zoo, and it was Tom who was surprised for once in Harry's short lifetime.

~You can talk to snakes,~ Tom was murmuring, dazedly, in the back of Harry's mind.

It had been a perfectly pleasant trip to the zoo in Harry's opinion, even when Dudley had noticed him talking to the snake and had begun mocking him for it. Six years of a different Harry and you'd think he would have known better. But no, and so Harry had quite easily vanished the glass and trapped him behind it, at the same time setting the boa constrictor in the cage free. That, in his mind, was a perfectly acceptable and harmless prank, considering that the snake in question had already been let out of the cage.

Of course he could tell that dear Uncle Vernon didn't agree. The man had tried, once again, to get in his face about it, and this time Harry hadn't even bothered calling on Tom, he'd simply closed his own fist around the man's heart until he stopped trying to yell. Harry feared that Tom was rubbing off on him, and perhaps he wasn't exactly the best role model out there.

This thought seemed to snap Tom out of his daze, and he said, ~What do you mean you don't think I'm a good role model?~ in the most offended tone Harry had ever heard from the once-Dark Lord.

It was sort of adorable, and Harry couldn't help but smile. ~I mean that you killed my parents, Tom,~ Harry answered, still smiling fondly. ~And you yourself admitted to murdering thousands. Not to mention enslaving your followers and making those nasty bits of your soul that are apparently just lying around waiting to trap someone.~

~You make it all sound so sinister. I, in fact, was a perfectly legitimate Dark Lord. You may not realize this, young man, but all Dark Lords have a certain image to maintain, and I was simply doing my best to further that goal.~

~Oh, piss off,~ Harry objected, laughing aloud. Fortunately the door to his room was closed and warded, and nobody could actually hear him making any noise in there. Tom had taught him how to do that shortly after the Ripper incident last summer, after Uncle Vernon had caught him crying over the dog and Tom had needed to step in.

Tom chuckled as well. ~I fear that you are a terrible influence on me, Harry,~ the piece of the Dark Lord's soul murmured, suddenly sobering.

~What do you mean?~ Harry asked, a bit unnerved. Tom was... Tom was much older than Harry, and surely much more powerful. He certainly demonstrated a greater control of his magic than Harry could just yet, for all that he'd managed to teach Harry. The thought of him being able to influence Tom was... well, it was staggering.

~I shouldn't have told you about the horcruxes. About so many things. I've made myself vulnerable to you,~ Tom responded. ~You know more about me than even my most loyal followers. I've exposed myself to danger with you.~

~No!~ Harry protested. ~I wouldn't... Tom, I wouldn't ever hurt you! You've been... you've been so good to me, so kind, so protective, how could I even dream of throwing that back in your face? I can't. You... you rescued me, and I... how could I ever throw that back in your face?~

~Sweet, darling Harry,~ Tom was whispering, now, and Harry could feel that warmth of Tom's approval welling within him. ~You... you are all that I could ever ask for in an apprentice, if only we could get rid of that bleeding heart of yours.~ This last was added with some ire, but that was a far more familiar conversation and Harry smiled.

~Maybe if you'd had someone with a bleeding heart like mine around you wouldn't have gotten yourself killed in the first place,~ Harry pointed out sweetly, and just like that the years-old argument was begun once more.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was less than a day out from eleven, and quite frankly this was getting ridiculous.

They were stuck on an island; Harry was tired and irritated and above all else, he was hungry, and Uncle Vernon had lost his bloody mind. The food that they'd brought wouldn't feed one of them, much less all four. Especially not considering his the appetite of dear Dudley and Uncle Vernon.

~Oh, this is already so far past ridiculous it isn't even funny,~ Tom grumbled in the back of Harry's mind. He could feel the Dark Lord's irritation, and it was making his own that much worse.

It was into the silence broken only by the crashing of waves against the rocks outside that Harry finally asked, in his sharpest and most irritated tone (that Tom had taught him years ago but he'd never actually had cause to trot out), "And just what did you think was going to happen?"

"I beg your pardon, boy?" Vernon snarled back, eyes narrowed in his own irritation.

"I said, and just what did you think was going to happen?" Harry repeated, a slightly mocking tone to his voice. "I've been doing magic all along, you know I have. That's why you're so scared of me. And if I'm doing magic, well, it stands to reason that Hogwarts would be contacting me to arrange for my attendance. So again, what did you think was going to happen here?"

~Harry... are you... baiting him?~ Tom asked, a feeling of awe and amusement coming through to Harry.

~Well, he shouldn't have brought us out here for no bloody reason. I mean, honestly, what did he expect to happen? That Hogwarts was just going to ignore my magic? That they'd be able to keep the school from taking me for whatever reason? I don't even understand why they'd want to! After all, if I'm gone then I'm out of their hair for months at a time!~

"I think that you should watch your mouth, boy," Vernon shot back. "I think that it's late, and you're tired, and you should go to bed before I do something that I won't regret later on!" As he spoke, Vernon fiddled a bit with the shotgun in his hands, the warning in his tone obvious.

But Harry was young, and a bit on the innocent side despite having a Dark Lord in his head, and didn't catch the warning at all. "No, I mean, honestly. I would think that you would want me to go to Hogwarts. After all, once I'm there I'll be out of your hair for most of the year. I wouldn't have to come home for Christmas, I wouldn't be home for Easter, you'd only see me on summer breaks. Wouldn't that be ideal for you?"

"I won't have you learning any more about how to be a freak!" Vernon roared, standing abruptly. "You're a dangerous enough little monster as it is; I won't have them teaching you anything else!" The shotgun was up, now, and pointed at Harry.

Harry's eyes widened, and he didn't even have to think about it. He took a mental step back and Tom was there, suddenly, taking control. "Drop that weapon, Muggle," Tom warned.

Harry could feel his nerves, his fear, and Harry himself was frightened. He'd never felt Tom afraid before, and he wondered if a wizard could possibly hold up to a gun. ~We can't,~ Tom answered, short and sharp. ~If he fires it's over, so let me concentrate.~

"Oh, Vernon, don't," Petunia was whispering, her arms wrapped tightly around Dudley far off in a corner of the shack. Harry didn't know when they'd woken up, when they'd realized what was going on, and Tom didn't really care. "Not where Dudders can see," she added, and Harry flinched at that. Not asking him to not do it, just to not do it where Dudley couldn't see. Well, that at least clarified where he stood with her, and it made him feel a little bit sick at the thought.

"No, Pet, I've had just about enough of this little freak. He's a menace and a monster, and I won't have him doing anything more to hurt his family!" Vernon shouted, his face turning that familiar shade of purple that meant he was utterly incensed.

His finger tensed on the trigger, and suddenly he was holding a cobra. A viciously hissing, writhing cobra. Vernon dropped the snake with a startled swear, and the moment it left his hands it was a shotgun again.

"I've had just about enough of you," Tom snarled. Harry could feel a familiar power building within them, recognized it from the incident with Ripper, and he began, horrified, to push against the wall of Tom's will. But Tom was in control now, and there was nothing he could do. "You've hurt us, you've threatened us, and even now that we've demonstrated our superiority, you think to destroy us," he hissed. As he spoke he was advancing on the Muggle, his eyes narrowed and menacing.

~Tom, you can't, please, you promised!~ Harry was begging, fighting and struggling and wearing himself out just trying to break free of Tom's hold.

~Hush, child. Close your eyes to this if you must, but it needs to happen. The Muggles have to learn,~ Tom said gently.

~He can't learn anything if he's dead!~ Harry wailed.

Tom didn't respond, merely kept advancing on Uncle Vernon. Vernon was backing up rapidly, so alarmed that he wasn't even going for the gun. "I didn't mean it," he was whispering, over and over again, shaking his head back and forth. "I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't."

"You did," Tom hissed. "You absolutely did mean it. You pointed a shotgun at us, and you were going to kill us. Had I not taken the gun from you, we would be little more than a pile of flesh and bone and blood, lifeless at your hands." The 's' sounds of his words were drawn out, like the hissing of a snake, and Harry was now sobbing uncontrollably in their mind. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't stop Tom, and he thought maybe he would never trust Tom again for this.

"You're a freak! You needed to be taught a lesson, but you wouldn't learn! And so yeah, I was going to shoot you! You would have deserved it!" Vernon blustered, suddenly standing straight and tall. "I'm not afraid of a freak like you!"

"Pity," Tom murmured. And with no fanfare, a familiar burst of green light leapt from Harry and struck Uncle Vernon in the chest. The man fell to the floor, dead, as Tom watched dispassionately.

Harry was finally able to wrest control back from the Dark Lord, but it was too late. Uncle Vernon was dead, and it was all his fault. What had he been thinking, baiting the man? He was a murderer now, a monster just like Tom. He fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

"You... you murderer!" Aunt Petunia was shrieking, but Harry could barely hear her over the sound of his own sobs.

"I... I didn't... I mean, I..." he couldn't even speak, so great was his horror and grief at what Tom had used his body to do.

"You killed my father!" Dudley shouted, and Harry was horrified to hear the shotgun cocking behind him.

"Dudley, no," he managed to choke out, because he didn't want to step back and let Tom take control again. Because he knew that Tom wouldn't be any more lenient this time than he had been with Uncle Vernon, and Harry couldn't... he just couldn't...

~Idiot child, he's pointing a gun at you! He could kill you!~ Tom was shouting. ~I promise I won't-~

~You promised before! And now... NO! I'd rather die than be a murderer a second time over!~ Harry shook his head, lifted a shaking hand to his face to try and wipe away some of his tears even as he turned to face Dudley. If the other wanted to shoot him, he thought he'd allow it. He deserved it after all, for housing the soul of a monster.

"What, you're not going to kill me like you killed my dad?" Dudley sneered, and the gun wasn't even shaking as he pointed it at Harry.

"I didn't mean to," Harry protested feebly, still shaking with his grief. "I'm sorry," he pleaded, not even knowing who he was pleading to. His pleas would fall on deaf ears with the remaining two Dursleys, he knew that.

"You're gonna be," Dudley snarled, his finger tensing on the trigger.

****But before he could fire the shotgun, there was a loud BOOM from the door, and the entire shack seemed to rattle on its foundations.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! I love hearing from you all. To my Guest reviewer (you know who you are), you're welcome to continue reading and commenting, but I'm not changing my intended pairing no matter how many times you do so.


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Three-

Dudley was so startled by the loud boom from outside that the shotgun fell from his hands. Fortunately, it didn't fire when it fell, and Harry breathed a small sigh of relief now that said weapon was out of his cousin's hands. Yes, he would have let Dudley shoot him, but he wasn't exactly ready to die.

~Harry, please,~ Tom whispered. ~This is a very dangerous situation, you should let me take over once more. I swear, I swear that I won't harm any other members of your family, but please, Harry.~

Harry didn't respond. He was so mad at Tom he could barely think about it, much less actually talk to the man. Tom had... and Uncle Vernon hadn't even been a threat any longer! The gun was down, there was no way that he would have been able to hurt them! They could have apparated away, and they should have! Then nobody would be hurt, and Uncle Vernon would have had time to calm down! And Tom wouldn't have... wouldn't have... Harry cut the thought off ruthlessly. It didn't matter. Tom had.

~Harry...~ Tom spoke wearily, and Harry ignored him once more. Dudley was going for the gun, and Harry darted forward and grabbed it before Dudley could reach it. He cradled it to his chest and glared defiantly up at his cousin. He had just enough time to be grateful that he was no longer so easily exhausted when magic was cast, because otherwise he would have been terrifyingly vulnerable at this point, and then there was another loud, low _**BOOM**_ from outside.

"What is that, Mum?" Dudley asked. "Is it something the freak did?"

"I don't... I don't know," Petunia whispered, her attention split between the rattling door and the tableau before her. "I think that maybe..."

She didn't get a chance to finish whatever it was that she had been going to say. With another shack-rattling _**BOOM**_, the door to the shack caved inward and there stood a... a giant. He was huge, both in height and in girth, with a wild shaggy beard and hair. He looked like a wild thing, and he was carrying a pink umbrella.

~Oh, you must be kidding me,~ Tom said in the back of Harry's mind, sounding utterly exasperated. ~They've sent him to you? Really, Harry, how can you possibly expect me to remain quiet for this?~

~I can't deal with you right now,~ Harry finally sent back, knowing that Tom would just keep going if Harry didn't stop him. Tom could be... exceptionally annoying, especially since Harry didn't actually know of a way to block him from his mind. He wasn't even sure if it was possible to guard a portion of his mind from, well, itself.

"Here now, wha's happened here?" the giant in question rumbled, looking shocked. Harry supposed it was shocking, himself on his knees with a gun in his hands, his Uncle dead on the floor, and Dudley looming over him like he was going to beat Harry down himself. And his Aunt, to top it all off, huddling in the corner looking like... like someone had just killed her husband. Which Tom had.

"The freak killed my Dad!" Dudley shouted, and aimed a kick in Harry's direction.

Harry was so startled he let it connect and felt something in his jaw give way as he fell to the floor. The gun fell from his hands and his glasses shattered on impact, and he couldn't bring himself to get up. He was a murderer. A monster, just like Tom. How had he not known what was coming? Tom was always so clear in his hatred for his Uncle, he really should have known. He should have stopped baiting his Uncle before he snapped. He should have...

"Now there's no call to be goin' 'round makin' accusations like tha'! I'm sure yeh're upset abou' yer Dad's death, but Harry's jus' a little one like yerself," the giant was saying, and Harry's eyes widened and he scrambled back to his knees. His glasses were cracked so he could barely see from one of the lenses, and he thought that he might start crying again. And not just from the pain in his jaw.

~Tom!~ Harry said, desperately. ~Tom, please, what if they...~ But Harry couldn't even finish his sentence, and Tom simply didn't respond. "I..." he managed to gasp out, but couldn't get any further. He could go to prison. He was only eleven, and he could go to Azkaban for this. From what Tom had told him, it would be a nightmare.

"Here now, I 'spect yeh've had a terrible frigh'," the giant was saying gently, and he entered the shack. He was big enough that he seemed to fill the whole room, and he easily lifted Harry up and tucked him into his arms. "This ain' a place fer anybody ter be stayin' overnigh', not with a body 'ere. I'll take yeh ter a nice, quiet motel, and Harry an' I can talk, an' I'll contact Dumbledore an' have 'im take care of yer husband's body," the giant murmured to Petunia, and Harry let himself rest against the Giant's rather large chest. It wasn't as though he had much of a choice.

"I don't want... I don't want any freaks doing anything un... untoward to my husband's remains!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, finally breaking from her corner and wrapping both her arms around Dudley in a protective embrace.

"Nothin's gonna be done ter yer husband's remains," Hagrid answered. "So please, don' yeh worry 'bout it. We'll take care o' everything."

As they left the shack on the island and went back out into the violent storm outside, Harry couldn't help but start crying again. How weak. How embarrassing. But Tom had... he'd betrayed him. Harry had never imagined that Tom would betray him like this. It was awful, to know that Tom had never intended to keep his word to Harry at all.

~That isn't true!~ Tom burst out, as though unable to keep quiet any longer. ~I would never have hurt your Uncle if he hadn't... Harry, he was going to kill you! Why can't you understand that?~

Harry ignored the spirit within his mind. He was too upset, too tired, too betrayed to deal with Tom right then. So when Hagrid murmured something soothing and patted Harry like a puppy, Harry cuddled closer to the giant's warm body and let himself relax as the giant began to speak of the wizarding world and Hogwarts. It seemed to be the only thing he could do.

ooOOooOOoo

~He's not actually a giant, he's only a half,~ Tom murmured once Hagrid had settled them into their very own hotel room for the evening. Hagrid was in the room next door, and Aunt Petunia and Dudley were across the hall. He could hear Hagrid dimly through the walls, talking with somebody, though Harry couldn't imagine the hotel was actually connected to the floo. It was more of a bed and breakfast, really, with cream colored walls and kitschy art on said walls, and plush carpeting that was softer than the cot Harry had slept on for the first five years of his life.

He toyed with the idea of ignoring Tom still, but discarded it. He was already tired of fighting with Tom, even if... ~You killed my Uncle,~ he said flatly in response. He felt awful, and it wasn't even necessarily that he felt awful that Uncle Vernon was dead, which made him feel even worse. It was that Tom had... Tom had gone against everything he'd promised Harry, and killed his Uncle when he wasn't even a threat any longer.

~Yes, I did,~ Tom answered agreeably. ~But Harry, I don't think you quite understand the situation as well as you think you do. Yes, theoretically I could have apparated us away from the situation. But what then? When you show weakness to a bully like your Uncle was, they don't forget it. He would have known that a gun frightened us, and we never would have been able to re-enter their house. You can bet that if we'd done so and tried to return, we'd have been met by another shotgun, or possibly even a bullet.~

~But he would have been alive! He wouldn't have been dead on the floor of some stupid little hut that he was only at in the first place because of me! He would still be alive to hate me and I-~ Harry sobbed a little and curled in on himself under the covers of the decadent hotel bed. It was big enough that it could fit five of him, and it felt far too big for Harry who was used to his tiny little twin at home. The world felt far too big quite suddenly, and all Harry wanted to do was close his eyes and wake up and have everything be wonderful again.

~Harry, can you trust me enough to take a step back for me?~ Tom asked quietly, and Harry let out a little sob. What if Tom wanted to hurt somebody else? What if... what if... Harry couldn't stop him when he'd taken a step back. He wasn't strong enough, and he didn't know how. So what if Tom did something even worse than killing his Uncle? ~Please, Harry, I promise that I'm not going to take control of your body. I just want you to close your eyes, and take a step back for me. I'd like to try something, and I swear... I swear on my magic that it won't hurt anybody to the best of my knowledge.~

Something tightened within Harry, a sort of binding on the magic he'd been able to sense inside of him since he was six years old and Tom had taught him to apparate in the first place. But only on part of the magic within him, and that confused Harry enough that he did as Tom asked, and closed his eyes, and took a step back.

There was a moment where, once he'd opened his eyes, everything was still dark and that made him panic, but then a small flicker of light, a candle in the darkness, caught his attention. ~Tom?~ Harry asked, even as he stepped towards the light. He couldn't tell how far from it he was, but when he thought maybe he was close enough, he reached out to touch it, and then it wasn't dark at all anymore.

He was standing in a study straight out of a victorian novel, all dark panelled wood with bookshelves filled to the brim with books of all sorts of shapes and sizes lit by flickering candlelight. There was two doors, the one that he'd just stepped through, and another leading to somewhere else. The carpeting on the floor was soft and comfortable, and his bare feet sank into it with each step into the room he took. There was a couch against the same wall with the door he'd come in through, and there was a large wooden desk dominating the middle of the room. At the desk sat a tall man, with black hair greying at the temples and dark red eyes and a satisfied smile on his face. When he stood, he was revealed to be wearing long, elegant black robes over an emerald green shirt and a silver tie. He was very handsome, if a little old. Harry knew him at once to be Tom.

"What have you done?" Harry asked, staring at Tom through widened eyes. He took a single step backwards as Tom took one towards him. It took everything in him not to flee from the room, to return to his body and regain control of himself.

"I thought this a conversation best had in person, so to speak. Never fear; you haven't actually left your body. This is... well, it's the bit of the corner of your mind that I've claimed as my own. Rather charming, is it not?" His smile, as he spoke, grew gentler, and Harry couldn't help but respond with a tentative one of his own.

And then he remembered the conversation that they needed to had and the smile fell from his face. "You killed my Uncle when you knew... you knew that it wasn't what I'd wanted at all!"

Tom sighed, then came forward to kneel before Harry. He rested his hands on Harry's shoulders and said softly, "Your safety is my priority, Harry."

"I wasn't in any danger once he'd dropped the gun!" Harry argued, but he was finding it hard to think with Tom's hands on his shoulders. He wanted to step closer, to forgive the Dark Lord and maybe finally know what it felt like to be hugged.

"Harry," Tom murmured, and leaned forward, easily ensnaring Harry into his arms. He held tightly, even though Harry struggled and tried to pull away. "Do you see how difficult it is to remove yourself from my embrace?" he asked, and Harry immediately stopped struggling. "Now think of trying to do that with your Uncle. All he would have had to do was grab us, and that would have been it. We're not... we're still young. You're still young. Your body isn't strong enough to have apparated away while another person was holding onto us. And don't tell me that you don't think he wouldn't have lunged for us in a moment."

Harry was relaxing, slowly, into Tom's hold. "We could have tried," he said weakly, and Tom pressed a kiss to his forehead, making Harry's eyes close.

"We would have failed," he answered, "and I think you know that. I will not lie to you, I didn't exactly mind killing the man. But I regret the upset that it caused you."

"I..." Harry closed his eyes and really thought about what he was feeling. "I wish that you hadn't killed him, and I..." He stopped, shook his head. "I can see how you might have thought it to be the only choice," Harry finally conceded. He let himself melt the rest of the way into Tom's arms, then, and rested his head on the Dark Lord's shoulder.

"I am sorry that I've upset you," Tom offered.

"Thanks for that," Harry said dryly, even as he wrapped his own arms around Tom. "So this is what a hug is," Harry muttered after a few moments, breaking the calm of the scene.

Tom chuckled. "Yes, Harry, this is a hug. And now that you know how to visit me in your mind, you may certainly come to me for them whenever you'd like."

"You're kicking me out so soon?" Harry protested, his hands clenching involuntarily against Tom's robe. He didn't mean to protest, it just came out before he could stop himself. He'd never been hugged before, and it felt so nice that he really didn't want to go back out into the world where he was all by himself.

"You may stay as long as you wish," Tom answered, and patted Harry on the head.

It didn't take long for Harry to fall asleep, standing there in Tom's arms, and the study faded away around him as it gave way to dreams.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry awoke, it was to the barely veiled feeling of panic coming from Tom. This was... this was not a normal feeling from the once-Dark Lord, and so Harry was puzzled. ~What's wrong?~ he asked softly as he stared up at the ceiling.

~Oh, Harry, child, I've miscalculated so badly I don't even know where to begin,~ Tom began, mental voice shaky and, yes, panicky. ~I need you to reach out with your magic, the way that I taught you, and tell me if you sense other wizards nearby. Other than, of course, Hagrid.~

Harry closed his eyes once more and concentrated, feeling tentatively around him for the presence of other wizards. At first he couldn't quite figure out what he was looking for, and then he found it. There was an aura in the room next door with Hagrid, an aura that shone like the sun and nearly blinded Harry. Harry flinched away from that aura and said to Tom, ~There's somebody else in with Hagrid, somebody that I really... they're really bright. Like a sun.~

Tom began to swear within Harry's mind, so loudly and angrily and viciously that it took Harry's breath away and made him long for the days when it was okay to curl up under his covers and hide from the world. But only people who were weak did that, and Harry was most certainly not weak. Tom hadn't raised him to be so. So he forced himself to sit up, and to say to Tom in his most commanding voice (which admittedly wasn't all that very considering that he was only eleven years old), ~Stop that! What's this about, then?~

~The 'sun' you sense in there could very well be our undoing,~ Tom snarled. ~That, child, is Albus Dumbledore,~ he hissed, with all the inflection of a violent swear, ~and he and I do not get along.~

~Isn't he the leader of the Order opposing you?~ Harry asked, thinking back to what Tom had told him of the last war. It wasn't much; Tom hadn't thought such stories appropriate bedtime material. He'd preferred to focus on more cheerful fare, if classic fairy tales were really any better. But most of those were awfully morbid as well, and Harry had never understood why he wasn't learning more important things than that.

~Yes, he is. He's also the Headmaster at Hogwarts, or was when I was killed, and a very important wizard politically speaking as well. He defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald, and nearly became Minister of Magic after doing so. He is truly a force to be reckoned with, and not one that I'd thought you would be dealing with for at least several months yet.~ The panic had faded from Tom's voice, now, and Harry relaxed a bit. He was vexed now, instead, and that was always better than panic or fear. It was, at least, a more common emotion from the Dark Lord.

~And you think he wants to talk to me about what happened to Vernon.~ It wasn't a question, because what else could somebody like Albus Dumbledore want with such a young child? The possibilities were few and far between, and Harry almost smirked. ~I bet you're regretting killing him now, aren't you,~ he sang at Tom, unable to resist the childish jab.

~Not really,~ Tom shot back, ~Just that I did so in such a painless and easily identified way. I should have given him some sort of fit, made it actually look like the stress had done him in. But no, I had to take the merciful route, and not make him feel any kind of pain. And now Dumbledore is no doubt here to find out how an innocent eleven year old child came to cast a wandless Killing Curse.~

Harry's breath left him in an irritated huff and he flopped back against the mountain of pillows in his bed. He should have known that Tom would never admit that he'd done something wrong; the Dark Lord never had. ~So what do we do?~ he asked, not willing to fight with Tom yet again about what he'd done. They'd only just gotten over that, and Harry didn't want to be mad at Tom any longer. It hurt him to be mad at Tom. Tom was, after all, his first and only friend.

~I'm afraid this is all going to be up to you, child. I can't manifest in front of Dumbledore; he'll know who I am right away. And then he'll most likely kill us, and that will be that. So you, child, are going to put to use the skill of deception that I've drilled you on. You're not going to know a thing of magic, of the wizarding world, of me. You're going to not make eye contact with the man at any cost, as he is an accomplished Legilimens, and you're going to be appropriately awed at everything. And hopefully, hopefully, we'll convince him that Vernon was so very frightening that you accidentally killed him when he pointed the gun at you. So you're going to have to sell that fear, and sell them as the villains of the piece.~

~It's a lot to remember,~ Harry said hesitantly, ~I don't know that I can do it.~

~You don't have much of a choice,~ Tom answered. ~These are our circumstances. We can rise to meet them, or we can be crushed by them. It's your call.~

~For somebody who got me into this mess in the first place, you're not very sympathetic,~ Harry complained, as he slipped out of bed. Tom didn't respond, and Harry supposed that he was busy pretending not to exist in Harry's head. So he was entirely on his own for this meeting.

Harry took a deep breath, steeled himself, then opened the door to his room. He could do this. He absolutely could do this. He'd trained with Tom for years in the art of deception, and something like this, convincing a doddering old man of something that he no doubt wanted to believe anyway? That should be like getting Dudley to eat a sweet. Easy.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry knocked sharply on Hagrid's door after taking a deep breath for good luck. Not that he thought he needed it, but it certainly wasn't going to hurt anything.

There was a moment of silence, and then Hagrid's door was opening and the giant was beaming at Harry. "Harry, yeh're here! 's good ter see yeh awake, an' I'm sure yeh're ready ter get ter Diagon Alley, but I've jus' get someone fer yeh ter meet before we get ter tha'," Hagrid said cheerily, still beaming at Harry.

"Someone for me to meet? I'm not... I'm not in trouble, am I?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I didn't... I mean, I didn't mean to..." He closed his eyes and dropped his head, the perfect picture of remorse and sorrow.

"My dear boy, you certainly aren't in any kind of trouble," came a weathered, older, wiser voice. "But Hagrid made some disturbing reports, and I thought it best that you and I clear the air between us before this mess got any further."

"Disturbing... disturbing reports?" Harry asked weakly. He didn't even have to pretend not to be nervous, which was great, because he was pretty sure his knees were shaking. He was about to face Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, defeater of Grindelwald, etc., etc., ad nauseam. Literally.

"Come in, my dear boy. We haven't met, but I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, the school that we certainly hope you'll be attending in the fall." Harry chanced a look up, just enough to get a glimpse of a beaming face and a flash of color, and then he was looking back down at the floor, the picture of an ashamed and frightened child. "Your parents attended our school, you know, just like you will."

"My parents?" Harry asked, trying to sound as though he hadn't known such a thing. And then a flash of inspiration hit, and he asked breathlessly, "Did you know my parents, Headmaster?" and raised his gaze just a touch, as though unable to keep from perking up at the thought.

"I knew them very well. They were very good friends of mine once they graduated from Hogwarts," the Headmaster answered.

"Is it... is it true that they died in a car accident because my Dad was drunk and driving?" Harry asked, hesitantly, as though afraid to hear the answer. Of course he knew the truth, he and Tom had that conversation a long time ago, but establishing Vernon Dursley as a liar and a villain could only be to his benefit here.

"In a... dear me, no, that isn't the case at all!" the Headmaster exclaimed, sounding horrified. "Wherever would you have gotten that idea, child?"

"From... well, Uncle Vernon used to say it all the time," Harry whispered, as though ashamed to be speaking ill of the dead. "He told me that they were useless drunks that died in a car accident, and that I was lucky that he and Aunt Petunia took me in despite the fact that they passed their bad genes on to me." He sniffled a bit after he said it, and was grateful that his bangs still hid his eyes because otherwise the Headmaster might have been able to tell that they were dry as the desert.

"No, Harry, your parents were murdered by a very evil man. But, that isn't what we have to talk about! There is something a bit more important at hand, so why don't you have a seat, have something to eat. You must be famished!" the Headmaster was saying, and Harry felt a hand on his elbow. He glared down at it for less than a second before wiping the expression on his face.

~Eat nothing!~ Tom snapped, and Harry wanted to growl at him. He wasn't stupid, he remembered Tom telling him all about truth potions and suggestion serums and all sorts of other nasty things that could be added to his food.

"Actually, my stomach's sort of upset. I can't... not after what happened with Uncle Vernon," Harry whispered, and folded his hands together in front of him once he'd settled into one of the plush chairs. And by settled he meant perched awkwardly, because there was no way he was getting comfortable with somebody who wanted to kill Tom around.

"Of course, my dear child. I understand." A weathered hand crept into his field of vision and patted his own gently, in a show of sympathy that Harry was very hard pressed not to reject immediately. "I'm sure it was very difficult for you to have your Uncle pass on like that, so suddenly, and so young too."

"It really, really was," Harry whimpered. "I just... I... I think I'm a horrible person!" he cried, and dared to look up. The Headmaster was indeed old, with long snow white hair and a long beard of the same color. He wore half-moon glasses and his eyes were grave. His robes clashed with the moment, as they were bright green and yellow and the made Harry want to wince.

"Harry, my dear child, why would you think that?" the Headmaster asked gently. "Of course you'd be upset that your Uncle died, that's only natural. It doesn't make you a bad person, in fact, that's quite the opposite."

"N-no, it isn't that," Harry whispered. "It's that... I think... I think that maybe I'm the one that killed him!" Harry burst into tears at that point, loud and wracking and rolling his eyes at himself inwardly the entire time. Really? Crying over that... well, he'd done it last night, he could do it this morning as well. But it surprised Harry, because he didn't actually feel any sorrow over his Uncle's death. Which made him wonder if the tears from last night were because Tom had broken a promise or because his Uncle had died?

"There, there," Albus murmured. He was standing next to Harry, then, and patting his shoulder soothingly. "Can you tell me what happened last night?" he asked, gently and kindly.

Harry let his sobs die down to sniffles and he nodded. "I... he was so afraid of something, of the letters that kept coming in the mail, and he panicked and he took us out to that shack on the rock with a shotgun. And he was holding that shotgun, and he got mad at me, and he was pointing it at me, and something in me just... I don't know what happened. He was pointing the gun at me, and then he wasn't and he was dead and I... I think it was all my fault!" Harry wailed the last bit, as though he couldn't keep himself calm any more, and buried his head in his hands as though overcome by his own grief.

"Now I'm sure it wasn't anything of the sort," the Headmaster said, and patted Harry on the shoulder once more. "It sounds to me like a tragic case of accidental magic. I'll have words with your Aunt regarding not holding you responsible for what happened, and you'll still stay with her and your cousin for the rest of the summer. Now, I believe that Hagrid has your shopping trip to Diagon Alley all planned out. And I'm sure that you're excited for your first glimpse of the Wizarding World, aren't you?"

"It's hard to be excited after my Uncle just died," Harry pointed out, but then he mustered up a shy smile for the Headmaster. "But yeah, kinda," he whispered, and ducked his head as though feeling guilty.

As Hagrid escorted him out the door, Harry was amused to hear Tom laughing aloud in the back of his mind. ~Oh, well done, you. Well done indeed.~

~I did learn from the best,~ Harry pointed out, and then focused his attention on Hagrid as the half-giant began talking about the places they'd see on their trip.

ooOOooOOoo

Albus Dumbledore was many things, but one of those things was not stupid. Something smelled rotten about Harry Potter, and he just wasn't sure what it was. The whole thing with his Uncle just reeked of somebody else's hand involved, but Albus just wasn't sure who.

There was the fact that Petunia had reported hearing him call Vernon a 'worthless Muggle' on multiple occasions, and the strange one-sided conversations she thought she'd heard from the boy's room when he was five years old, before suddenly she couldn't hear anything at all. There was the 'accidental' apparition to the roof when Harry was six years old, and the incident with the dog when he was nine. Each event by themselves, except of course the last which had resulted in the death of his Uncle, was completely innocuous and even logical considering the level of power that Harry would one day need to develop in order to fulfil his role in the prophecy.

But together... Albus didn't know what was going on with Harry Potter, but he knew that he would have to keep a very close eye on the young man in the days to come. He was a weapon, after all, designed to be used against the Dark Lord. And if a weapon wasn't behaving appropriately, well, he might just have to do something to fix that.

But he certainly hoped that it wouldn't come to that.


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Four-

~Remember that you don't have any idea what's coming,~ Tom said for the umpteenth time in back of Harry's mind.

~I know, Tom,~ Harry growled.

~And remember, you've never seen magic deliberately cast before, much less done any of your own,~ Tom threw out.

Harry fought down a sigh and growled, ~For the last time, Tom, I know! I know what I'm doing, I know the consequences if I mess up, I know! Do you honestly think that Hagrid's going to actually suspect anything of us, anyway?~

~No, but you're a fool if you don't realize that Dumbledore will be suspicious no matter what,~ Tom shot back.

~I thought you said I did a good job!~ Harry protested, feeling stung. He'd done the best he could, and Tom had seemed pleased with his efforts only a few moments ago. What had changed?

~You did an excellent job. But the fact of the matter is that I haven't been exactly, how shall we say, circumspect with my presence in you. I would be very surprised were the man not suspicious considering some of the trouble I've gotten us into over the years. And for that, Harry, I do apologize. I never meant to make your years at Hogwarts any more difficult than they were already going to be.~ Tom sounded genuinely regretful, and that alone was what stopped Harry from snapping at the man.

~It wasn't as though you knew that you'd wind up killing Uncle Vernon before I could even make it to Hogwarts,~ Harry said begrudgingly, even if he wasn't entirely certain that was indeed the case. ~So what do I need to do?~

~You'll have to be much more careful about when and what you cast, magic wise. It won't be easy on you, considering that you already know so much of the theory, but we might be able to explain that away by having you purchase other books on magical theory along with your first year texts. I'll think it over, and we'll be able to go from there. Now pay attention, I think you're about to reach the Leaky Cauldron if memory serves.~

"Here we are, Harry," Hagrid said cheerfully. "The Leaky Cauldron. I think yeh'll like Diagon Alley," the half-giant said, and ushered Harry inside the dingy little shop front.

~And remember, you're probably something of a legend, considering that you defeated me as a baby. Remember to act awed by all the attention,~ Tom said. ~But if you aren't, and nobody knows or cares who you are, don't be disappointed. It would be for the best if that were the case.~

~Did you want to take over, and just do all of this yourself? I mean, the red eyes might give away the fact that something's not quite right there, but by all means,~ Harry offered. He prepared to take a mental step back even as he was swarmed by several people the moment they realized who Hagrid had with him. Clearly Tom had been right and he was something of a celebrity. Just what he'd always wanted. He was appropriately kind and confused, though, and smiled for the group of wizards, the first group of magical people he'd ever seen. It really was kind of exciting, even if they were all slobbering over him like he was some sort of decadent dessert, he couldn't lie.

~No, no, you're doing... Harry!~ Tom shouted, just as Harry shook hands with the man who would be teaching him Defense Against Dark Arts, according to Hagrid.

"P-p-pleasure to meet y-you, P-P-Potter," the man stumbled. He was pale, and he wore a large purple turban around his head. And there was something in him that sparked a sense of recognition within Harry, presumably the same thing that had made Tom let out that exclamation of surprise.

"It's very nice to meet you too, Professor. I can't wait to take your class, it sounds fascinating!" Harry said, and offered the man a genuine smile. He was a mystery, and Harry liked mysteries very much. Inwardly, however, he asked, ~What is he, Tom?~

~I don't know. But I think... I think he's carrying a part of me around with him, just as you are. Which is positively ridiculous, since I know that I wouldn't have turned somebody like _that_ into one of my Horcruxes,~ Tom sneered.

The scorn in his voice made Harry smile a bit, and it was okay because everybody in the pub thought he was smiling at them. ~Unless it was an accident, like the one you made with me,~ Harry suggested.

~I suppose, though I can't imagine that I made that much of a mistake.~ The doubt in Tom's voice would have been enough to send Harry into gales of laughter had they been alone, as it was, Harry was hard pressed not to burst into giggles at the scorn the Dark Lord was capable of.

And then they were being steered out of the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry got his first real glimpse of Diagon Alley. Even all of Tom's storytelling hadn't prepared Harry for the magic of his first sight of the Alley, and Harry didn't even have to fake the feeling of awe that came over him. "This place is... Hagrid, it's magical!" He added internally to Tom, ~And don't think that I'm not grateful to you for not spoiling this beautiful sight, Tom.~ Tom, who had shown him some of his memories of classes within Hogwarts, particularly boring ones of History of Magic that had helped Harry sleep on particularly difficult nights, had cared enough not to spoil such a wonderful sight for Harry. It made Harry adore him all the more.

~Every wizard raised in the Muggle world deserves their first sight of Diagon Alley to go unspoiled,~ was Tom's gently amused response. ~I can still remember the magic of my own, so many years ago. It was an experience I was reluctant to rob you of.~

"It sure is, Harry," Hagrid agreed with a nod of his wild head. "Now, we've gotta get yeh ter Gringotts and then on ter some school supplies fer yeh. We've go' a busy day ahead o' us, Harry!"

After Harry had a chance to look his fill at just the view alone, Hagrid gently urged him along, presumably in the direction of Gringotts. Harry couldn't help but be excited, even if he had no idea what sort of state his vault might be in.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry had to fight once more to stifle his giggles at his first sight of the goblins of Gringotts. They were short and oddly shaped and... well, they were funny looking! He supposed, though, that if he hadn't been expecting to see fierce and easily irritated warriors that they might have appeared more intimidating. And the whole scene wasn't helped at all by Hagrid emptying his pockets all over the teller's counter. Which was actually making the teller in question look quite a bit fierce, but Harry still couldn't help but think it was funny.

~Just so long as you don't laugh aloud,~ Tom cautioned. ~Goblins may appear to be little more than deformed children, but they're vicious when crossed. And they have long memories. Trust me, you don't want to offend a being that has control of your finances, not ever.~

~See, this is why I keep listening to you,~ Harry said as Hagrid finally managed to fish out his key. He sort of wanted to know why Hagrid was carrying some of the things he had in his pockets, such as moldy dog biscuits, but he brushed the thought aside and continued with, ~You've already made such fascinating mistakes in life, and every one of them seems to have a story behind it. So instead of repeating the mistakes that you've already made, I can just listen to the tales of your own and be done with the whole matter.~ He was smiling carefully as he said it, carefully because said smile was at severe risk for becoming a smirk. And Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived as some of the wizards in the pub had called him, didn't smirk.

~Well, this particular mistake is both one that you never want to make and a tale that is far too old for your young years, so you'll forgive me not telling you the whole sordid thing just now,~ Tom responded. ~Now, I think that you'll enjoy the rush of what's coming next, so pay attention,~ he suggested.

Harry fought down the curiosity always inspired by the phrase 'too old for your young ears', knowing that it would do no good to push on the matter, and returned his attention to the world around him just in time for the cart they were now sitting in to take off. Harry let out a cry of delight as they rocketed through a maze of tunnels, Hagrid looking awfully queasy beside him, and the goblin at the helm was grinning as fiercely as Harry. This... this was fun. And another surprise that Tom hadn't ruined for Harry, which made Harry smile all the more. Because Tom was always so careful to prepare him for the unpleasant things, and always left something fun for him to discover on his own. He loved that about Tom, he really did.

When the cart pulled to a stop, however, he could feel Tom's confusion and a bit of his displeasure. ~This isn't quite right,~ he was muttering, even as Harry stepped out of the cart.

~What's wrong?~ Harry asked, puzzled, as Hagrid and the goblin, Griphook, Harry thought, opened up his vault. A large amount of green smoke billowed out from the now-opened Vault, and Harry's breath was taken away by the mountain of money inside the vault. Galleons and Sickles and Knuts, all in piles and piles and... oh, how Uncle Vernon would have been jealous of this.

Before Tom could explain, Hagrid was speaking to Harry. "'s all yours, Harry," the half-giant was saying. When he launched into an explanation of the wizarding monetary system, Harry tuned him out once more. He already had a fairly good grasp of the odd little system, and what he didn't understand he could ask Tom about later.

~What's the matter?~ he asked Tom again, as the feeling of discontent hadn't yet gone away from the Dark Lord living inside of him.

~There should be more money than this,~ Tom responded. ~And the vault should be much deeper underground. The Potters were an ancient Pureblood family with an ancestral seat on the Wizengamot that you're going to be able to take once you turn sixteen. This is... this is a drop in the bucket of the Potter wealth. I'm not sure why...~

Harry fought the urge to frown as he took the sack of money that Hagrid handed him, saying that it should last him for a few terms. ~Maybe because I'm not yet sixteen? This could be a trust vault,~ he suggested. ~Or maybe the Dursleys got ahold of the money and spent it all,~ he added, not really all that bothered by the thought. It was just money, after all. Having never had it, he couldn't imagine that he'd miss it all that much.

Tom chuckled. ~Harry, child, I don't think that even the Dursleys would have been able to spend all of the Potter fortune, and we both know how they hemorrhaged money at certain points in time.~ Remembering the lavish vacations the Dursleys liked to go on, leaving him to his own devices in the house and accidentally giving Harry a vacation of his own made Harry smile.

They were back in the cart, now, and headed towards whatever Hagrid's 'official business' was, but Harry wasn't really all that concerned with that. ~Do you think something sinister happened with my family's vault?~ he asked, curious.

~Probably not,~ Tom answered after a few more moments of silent contemplation. In that time, Hagrid had gone into the vault in question and removed a simple small brown bag, and the cart was already moving once more. Whatever it was had to be something small and magically important for the Headmaster to be bringing it to Hogwarts, which was what he had to be doing with the tiny package.

~What do you think Hagrid took from the vault?~ Harry asked, just a little bit curious now that he'd seen how small the package in question was.

~No clue,~ Tom answered, still sounding preoccupied. ~I think you're probably right,~ he added as the cart rocketed back towards the surface of the bank. ~I think that's your trust vault, and the main Potter vaults are still unavailable to you. But just to be certain, once we have a chance and once it won't look so suspicious, I'd like to do a full accounting of your family vaults. I don't trust Dumbledore not to have removed certain things that might be beneficial to his Order in the name of the greater good.~

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. ~Sure, Tom,~ he sent back, blinking as they pulled to a stop in the bright light of the Gringotts lobby once more. He hadn't realized how dim the maze of vaults was until they were out in the open once more. ~Whatever you want, since you're the old man with all the experience.~ Aloud, he asked, "So where to now, Hagrid?"

"Well, there's yer robes, and then there's..." Harry let Hagrid babble on and ignored Tom's sputtering within his mind, mentally giving himself a point for scoring one on the Dark Lord.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry could feel Tom perking up the moment they stepped into the back room of Madam Malkin's Robes. He couldn't see why, it didn't seem like the type of place that would normally catch Tom's interest. It was a clothing store, of all things, and he'd never much enjoyed them when they went with the Dursleys. Hagrid had nipped off to the Leaky Cauldron, needing to recover after dealing with the carts in Gringotts, leaving Harry to face the seamstress alone. Well... sort of alone.

~Why are you so cheerful again?~ Harry asked as they were settled into the backroom of the shop, where a pale boy with a slightly pointed face sat as well.

~That boy, Harry, will be a magnificent ally. Introduce yourself,~ Tom commanded.

Harry blinked, not used to such definite commands from Tom, but before he could speak, the other boy was turning to him. "Hogwarts as well, then?" the boy asked, sounding entirely disinterested in the conversation. He had a delicate quality to his features, pale and sort of pretty like a girl's.

Harry shook off the impression, absolutely certain that whoever he was, the boy wouldn't appreciate it. "It will be my first year," he confirmed with a hesitant smile. "My name's Harry Potter. What's yours?"

The other froze, a flash of recognition bursting across his face, followed by a quick flick of his strange, pale grey eyes up to Harry's forehead. Checking for the scar, most likely, which made Harry flush and duck his head to hide it. It was an automatic thing, one that he couldn't stop himself from doing. His scar was ugly, even if Tom was pretty sure that scar was the physical evidence of his existence within Harry's mind. Any normal scar would have healed long ago, and it still bled when Tom tried to force Harry to take a step back mentally.

"So you are," the boy was answering, and there was a slight glimmer of a smile appearing on his lips. "Draco Malfoy. It'll be my first year as well. Perhaps we'll be in the same House, though I believe both your parents were in Gryffindor."

"I'm not sure what House my parents were in," he lied, because of course he and Tom had discussed it, "but from what's been mentioned about the Houses to me thus far, I'm pretty sure I'm bound for Slytherin." From Tom's description of the house system, Harry was almost positive that would end up. He certainly didn't feel particularly brave enough for Gryffindor, and though he was loyal to Tom he didn't think it was enough to send him to Hufflepuff, and he was smart but he wouldn't call that a defining characteristic. So it would probably be Slytherin, and since that seemed to be what Tom wanted, Harry was okay with that.

Now Malfoy was smiling for real, though it was still small enough to escape notice if one wasn't looking for it. Or if one wasn't used to dealing with irritable Dark Lords who didn't know how to smile without smirking when borrowing Harry's body. "Then perhaps we'll be roommates. Although... you don't know what House your parents were in?"

Harry hesitated. What to say to him? What to tell this other child who Tom clearly wanted him to befriend? Obviously mentioning Tom was entirely out of the equation, at least until he knew more about the lay of the land with loyalties. ~The truth, or a portion of it. You were raised with Muggles, so you don't know as much about your heritage as you'd like,~ Tom suggested.

~But I've had you to tell me things, and I... I don't want to seem ignorant,~ Harry thought.

~I'll have you purchase some books about the wizarding world once we reach Flourish and Blotts. Maybe he can recommend some to you, though I doubt it. Either way, your name will carry you through this first meeting, and you can wow him with the second on the train.~

"I don't..." Harry flushed and looked down, not even having to pretend his to be embarrassed. "I was raised by my mother's sister. She's a Muggle, and knows nothing of the wizarding world. So I'm not... I don't know as much as I'd like to about magic and everything."

"That's a shame," Malfoy answered, and Harry hesitantly peeked up to see a frown on the other boy's face. "Well, you can certainly feel free to ask me any questions you'd like on the train ride to Hogwarts. I'll make sure you don't fall in with the wrong sort."

"I'd like that," Harry said, as eagerly as he dared. Was this... was this a real friend? Which wasn't to say that Tom wasn't real, but he wasn't physically real and he was just in Harry's head and... well, Harry might be a bit excited about that possibility.

"That's you done, dearie," Madam Malkin said, interrupting the conversation between the two of them.

Draco hopped down from his stool and held out his hand to Harry. "It's been very nice talking to you, Potter. I'll look for you on the train."

Harry shook the other boy's hand and beamed at him, unable to stop himself. "I can't wait," he responded, and then the other was gone and he was alone in the robe shop. Well, except for Madam Malkin herself, who was fitting him for the Hogwarts robes.

"So just the school robes, then? Nothing for more casual wear?" the seamstress asked.

Harry hesitated. ~Tom?~ he asked, not certain of the right answer.

~You'll want casual robes if you're to fit in within Slytherin,~ Tom answered immediately. ~But if you don't want to make Hagrid wait, we can pick up a catalogue. Malfoy would also be good for helping you pick out the right styles.~

"Just the school robes, I think, and maybe a catalogue if you've got one?" Harry suggested. He smiled at Hagrid, who he'd just noticed was watching through the window, and finished his shopping quickly. He didn't want to make the other wait, after all, he was being kind enough to help Harry along in this. Tom snorted at that, but made no comment, for which Harry was grateful.

Once outside, he asked cheerfully, "So where to next?"

"Well, yeh still need yer books, an' yer wand, an' yer potions supplies, an' summat else I wanted yeh ter take a look at," Hagrid mused, running his fingers over his beard. "So we'll do the borin' stuff firs', an' get yer books and supplies, and we'll go from there."

Harry smiled, and followed Hagrid into the next stop on their list, the Apothecary. While inside, Hagrid showed him where to get the things he would need for his first year, and Harry fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. ~You didn't warn me that it would smell so awful in here, Tom,~ he accused.

~My apologies, child. I didn't think I would need to warn you that dead things and pungent herbs might have a bit of a smell to them,~ the Dark Lord responded dryly. ~But since you're concerned, Harry, the Apothecary has an interesting smell to it.~

~Smartass,~ Harry thought, and picked up a catalogue for the Apothecary as well. ~Should I be purchasing an owl for all of this ordering I might be doing?~

~Hogwarts has owls for the students to use, and it might be for the best to use those instead. I don't want your owl to become recognizable, because recognized owls are easy to interfere with. Either way, I don't think that you need an owl just yet,~ Tom answered.

Harry wrinkled his nose, not necessarily wanting to think about the idea that other people might want to sabotage his mail. He didn't care for that idea at all. Sure, the Dursleys had never much cared for him, but they'd never actively tried to kill him. Well, except until they had, but Harry didn't particularly want to think about that, either.

"Bookstore?" he asked Hagrid instead, and didn't bother to conceal the hope in his voice. A shop full of wizarding books... Tom was an excellent teacher, but Tom could only teach him what he knew. And though Tom knew quite a lot, he didn't know everything. Particularly, he didn't seem to know all that much about healing magic, something that had fascinated Harry since he'd heard of the possibilities.

~You're too young for most of the books on healing,~ Tom said, in a long-suffering tone that made Harry smile. ~But if you'd like, I'm sure there are beginners books on the subject. It will go right over your head, since I haven't exactly taught you much of charms work. There was no point to it with you not having a wand.~

~You taught me all kinds of other things,~ Harry protested, as he browsed the stacks of books. ~I'd really like to read up on some of the other forms of magic that you don't place much stock in, if that's alright,~ he added, shyly. He didn't like disagreeing with Tom, but he couldn't deny that the thought of being able to heal wounds really pulled at him. He didn't even know why, not really.

~You'll have all kinds of other things to study. Potions work, perhaps, and defense work, and charms, and transfigurations. You'd be better served getting a jumpstart on your school work,~ the Dark Lord grumbled. ~Not to mention, even though you already know quite a bit about it, appearing to brush up on Pureblooded etiquette would be wise if you're going to survive in Slytherin.~

He didn't respond when Harry chirped, ~But that's what I've got you for!~

But given Tom's extreme dislike of the thought of Harry taking on too much work at once, Harry settled for just his school books, two books on wizarding history, an etiquette book that looked entirely too thick and unpleasant and therefore had to be the right one, and one single book on healing magics. A beginners book at that, so that Tom couldn't complain that he was jumping off into the deep end.

"Yeh're int'rested in healin' magics, then?" Hagrid asked, looking over the books in Harry's hands.

"It just seemed to jump out at me," Harry answered with a sheepish shrug. "And good etiquette is always important," he added, noticing the way that Hagrid's eyes strayed to that particular title.

"'f yeh say so," Hagrid responded doubtfully.

They paid rather quickly, then, and once outside Harry asked once more, "So, where are we headed now?"

"Well, there's still yer wand ter get yeh, but firs' I wanted ter get yeh yer birthday presen'," Hagrid said, and began steering them across the street.

"Oh, Hagrid, you don't have to do that!" Harry exclaimed, although his heart was racing at the thought. He'd never... he'd never had a birthday present before, and he couldn't stop the hope that maybe Hagrid was going to get him one. That would be... that would be pretty magical, Harry thought, and a great end to this first day in the magical world. Well... middle, but yeah.

"I know, I'll get yeh an owl!" Hagrid was saying, and Harry winced.

"But I..." And then he stopped, because he didn't want to seem ungrateful.

"But yeh...?" Hagrid trailed off and looked at Harry expectantly.

"I don't have anyone to write to," Harry whispered, and looked down and away, as though ashamed. "I mean, you saw how my Aunt reacted when... with Uncle Vernon, and I don't really have any friends from Muggle school that I'll be keeping up with." He didn't have anyone to write to, and Tom had already said that the school had owls he could use. And Tom definitely didn't seem to want him to have an owl.

Hagrid frowned. "Well, then let's go an' check out the other magical pet store," he suggested, and led them over to the Magical Menagerie. "Yeh can bring a toad, a cat, or an owl, an' I don' 'spect yeh want a toad," Hagrid commented.

"A cat... a cat sounds wonderful," Harry breathed. He couldn't help the gratitude welling within him at the thought of having his very own pet, and his very first birthday present all at once, and he beamed at Hagrid, unable to stop himself.

~I would have bought you a present if I could,~ Tom whispered, sounding regretful. ~I would have bought you more presents than Dudley would have known what to do with.~

~I know that, and I thank you for the thought,~ Harry sent back. He knew that if Tom had a physical body, he would most likely have spoiled Harry rotten. Harry thought it was sweet, and there was a large part of him that regretted that Tom didn't have his own body. Of course, had Tom never become a part of Harry's mind, he doubted that they would be on such friendly terms. So a large part of him remained glad that Tom existed only in his mind, because that also meant he was all Harry's.

ooOOooOOoo

About twenty minutes later, Harry was carrying a massive silver tabby kitten with the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen on an animal. He was thanking Hagrid rather profusely, unable to stop himself from doing so. It was so exciting, having a kitten of his very own! He couldn't stop from reaching his fingers in her carrier and allowing her to brush her silky head against them.

~She's going to be huge, Harry,~ Tom was saying, amused, and Harry couldn't stop the grin. Tom had repeated that several times, trying to dissuade Harry, but Harry didn't care. He wanted her to be big. And strong, so that she could take care of herself. He had no doubt that Dudley would torment her if he could during his last month there before school started, and during the summers to come.

And then they were at the wand shop, which Harry had actually been rather well prepared for. Tom had warned him that the proprietor of the shop was an eccentric old man that would likely take quite a few tries to match him to a wand. So he was ready for the creepy shadows within the shop and the creepy old man that measured his wand arm, and the several different attempts and failures that came when he tried several different wands. But then...

The moment he felt the holly wand with the phoenix feather core touch his fingertips, he knew that it was his. There was just such a feeling of... of rightness, of perfection, and it shot a fountain of green and gold sparks the moment he closed his fingers around it.

"How curious," Ollivander was murmuring, even as he began to ring them up for the purchase of his wand.

"What is?" Harry asked, curious himself.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar." (1)

Harry tuned out the rest of what Ollivander was saying, handing over his money when prompted. ~Did you hear that, Tom? We have brother wands! Isn't that fascinating?~

~It is, Harry,~ Tom murmured in response.

~Does that mean anything special, do you think?~ Harry asked eagerly, always desperate for a little bit more knowledge. He'd never known there was such a thing as a brother wand before, and he was fascinated by the thought.

~I'm not sure. We'll have to do some research on the matter once we have some time, and a library readily available to us,~ Tom answered thoughtfully. It wasn't often that the Dark Lord wasn't aware of something, and Harry fought to contain his grin at the thought of researching something alongside Tom rather than just learning it from him.

ooOOooOOoo

Hagrid took him to dinner after that, and it was over dinner that Harry hesitantly asked, "Do you think you could maybe tell me a little bit more about how my parents died, Hagrid?"

~Harry! I've told you once and I'll tell you again, I think that you're still too young to hear about this.~ Tom was scowling in his head, Harry could hear it in his voice.

~I think you're just afraid that I won't like you anymore once I've heard about it,~ Harry shot back. That Tom was silent was something of a damning point in Harry's favor. He knew the way that Tom's mind worked, knew exactly what Tom was thinking. That it was one thing for Harry to know, academically, that Tom had killed his parents, but another thing entirely to know the exact way in which it was done. Harry wasn't entirely sure that he could even discount Tom's fear entirely, but he thought that maybe Tom was being a little ridiculous. After all, the man had just killed his Uncle, and Harry wasn't angry with him over that any longer, was he?

~But your Uncle was a pig and the worst sort of Muggle,~ Tom shot back. But he didn't protest any longer.

Hagrid seemed hesitant as well, but after Harry had watched him patiently for several moments, and after he'd taken a large gulp of his drink, Hagrid began with, "Well, Harry, it was like this..."

ooOooOOoo

On the train ride home, Harry was largely silent considering how worn out he was from his day. But, he couldn't fall asleep on public transit so he stirred himself to ask Tom, ~Really, Voldemort?~ he asked for the first time since leaving the restaurant.

~Do I really have to discuss my name choice with you?~ Tom hissed, embarrassment coloring his voice.

~I mean, Flight from Death? That's your great and evil name?~ Harry teased. He couldn't help it; the name was perhaps the most ridiculous he'd ever heard. And he'd listened to Dudley trying to name his action figurines when he was little.

~It was an anagram!~ Tom protested. ~It matches all the letters in my original name perfectly! That you don't understand the nuances of choosing an appropriate name to strike fear into the hearts of my followers is certainly not my fault!~

~Of course, Tom,~ Harry agreed. ~Whatever you say,~ he added with the ease that came with a great amount of practice appeasing once-Dark Lords.

Tom huffed, and the rest of the train ride back to #4 Privet Drive was spent in silence.

* * *

(1) Quote taken directly from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Page 85.

**A/N: Thanks for all the follows and reviews, guys! Remember, I love hearing what you're thinking!**


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Five-

The month leading up to his trip on the Hogwarts Express was... quiet. Very, very quiet, and very uncomfortable, and Harry hated just about every minute of it. Aunt Petunia couldn't even look at him, and Harry wanted so badly to apologize to her for letting Tom get control of him that night. But he didn't, because Tom had said it would be best if he didn't bring the incident up again.

And Dudley stared at him as though he was a monster. This was nothing new, more like an extension of the way that Dudley stared at him like he was a freak before the incident on the shack, but now, now there was a sense of malice to it. Harry knew that if Dudley had ever truly thought him vulnerable, Dudley would have taken his vengeance on Harry. That made Harry feel all the worse, because for all of his faults, Dudley had never been willing to commit murder. At least, not that he'd been able to see.

Due to their incredibly obvious discomfort, Harry had pushed aside his own wishes and not attended Uncle Vernon's funeral. Tom hadn't been able to understand why Harry would want to go in the first place, so he hadn't pushed Harry to go. And Harry... despite the fact that he wanted so badly to pay his final respects to his Uncle, such as they were, he hadn't thought it appropriate to interrupt Aunt Petunia and Dudley's chances to mourn. So he'd stayed away.

What he did do, despite all of Tom's protests, was leave the house late one night about a week after the funeral. It hadn't taken much effort to find the location of Uncle Vernon's grave, and it was relatively easy to walk to. Petunia hadn't wanted Vernon to be too far from her in his eternal rest. Even if it hadn't been Harry knew he would have spent the money for a bus ticket. This was actually important to him even if Tom couldn't understand it.

Harry stood in front of his Uncle's grave that night, an odd mixture of glee that he'd managed to outlast the awful man, and sorrow that Tom had felt the need to kill him. And remorse, for having ever let Tom out in the first place. Uncle Vernon had to have been so terrified of him... But that hadn't been Harry's fault. He hadn't ever done anything to deserve their hatred in the first place, and it was time that he realized that.

He should pity the man, rather than hate him. ~Why?~ Tom asked, sounding frustrated. He'd been silent up until that point, willing to let Harry have a few moments worth of peace to look upon his Uncle's grave, but that apparently wasn't going to last.

~Because. He'll never know magic, he'll never move on from this. He wouldn't have even if he was alive. We should pity people that can't move on from where they're stuck,~ Harry sent back. Tom didn't argue, which from the once Dark Lord was almost as good as a concession.

Harry left Vernon's grave that night with a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a long time.

ooOOooOOoo

Now that he was no longer feeling all that guilty over Vernon's death, Harry put it the entire mess out of his mind and forced himself to focus on the things he had to learn about the wizarding world. There was so much to learn, and so little time before Hogwarts that he really didn't have all that much time. Yes, he did in fact have the vast majority of wizarding etiquette down, but now came the real challenge. Learning to pretend like he was just learning. And on top of that, he was memorizing the contents of his first year books, because he didn't want to be caught off guard later in the year. Not that he would with Tom there, but still...

And then, of course, there was the naming of his kitten. She was adorable, and perfect, and quite the fierce little warrior too. Dudley had, as Harry had suspected, tried to menace the little one, and she'd responded in kind. Dudley had quite the set of scratches on his hands and cheek for about a week after that little mess. It was that incident, the day after Harry had brought her home, that had led to his conversation with Tom regarding the cat's name.

~So what are you going to call her?~ Tom asked, sounding bored. ~Something like Mittens, perhaps, or Soot? Oh, I know! Whiskers!~

Harry wrinkled his nose. ~You're just jealous that you don't have a cat,~ he muttered. ~And I'm not giving her a stupid name like that. I'm going to find my beauty a name worthy of a goddess.~

Of course, once he'd made the claim there was nothing for it but to root through Dudley's old things (still making their way into his rather empty closet after all these years), until he found one of Dudley's old books on the legends of gods and goddesses of times past. It had been a gift from a well meaning friend that had quickly found themselves out of Dudley's circle of acquaintances. Dudley had no need for such things as books, after all.

"What about Artemis?" he asked the cat, and she merely continued to paw disinterestedly at a stuffed mouse Harry had purchased when he'd gotten her in the first place. "Athena?" he offered, only to have her roll on her back and ignore him some more. "Diana?" he tried, and got nothing still. "Frigga?" might have been nice, because she had all the attitude of a queen, but no luck there. He thought the name "Hecate?" rather appropriate, considering that she was to be a wizard's cat, but the cat in question was entirely unresponsive to that name. He continued flipping through the alphabetical list of names and job descriptions, calling out several to the entirely uninterested cat, but nothing really jumped out at him until he reached, "Minerva?"

The kitten mewled at him, rolling onto all four paws and taking a few steps forward to rub her head against Harry's hand. "You like that one, do you?" Harry asked, excited. ~See, Tom, I've found her a name truly worthy of a goddess!~

Tom was snickering in his head. ~Oh, yes, absolutely you did.~ He chortled for a bit longer, and when Harry didn't seem to get the joke, gasped out, ~You... you really don't know?~ practically in hysterics.

~Don't know what? That you're making no sense?~ Harry asked, acidly. ~I'm calling the cat Minerva,~ he said firmly, and Tom lost it once more.

Harry couldn't help but smile along with him, Tom's own laughter pulling him into a better mood just by simple virtue of existing. It was so hard to make the great and powerful Lord Voldemort laugh that Harry felt rather well accomplished in doing so, even if he had no idea what it was that Tom found so amusing.

He imagined that he would find out later, and most likely at the worst possible time. And Tom would probably be laughing then, too, since that was just the kind of humor that Tom enjoyed.

But that was okay, because at least Harry hadn't been so stupid to name himself 'Voldemort' in an effort to be feared.

ooOOooOOoo

~I still don't understand what's so funny about Minerva's name,~ Harry muttered. It was two weeks later and he'd already found a quiet compartment on the train, having arrived around twenty minutes before the train was scheduled to depart and gotten his seat. He was excited, waiting for the train to start moving, and hoping that Draco would maybe come and visit him. He'd like that, since Draco was his first... acquaintance. Friend, if he was feeling daring.

~I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually. If not now, then I'm sure you'll get it several years down the line,~ Tom answered, unconcerned.

~Whatever,~ Harry said with a sigh. He pulled out one of his books, the more interesting one on wizarding history that spoke of past Dark Lords and the battles between them and the Light. He hadn't gotten up to the part about Tom... Lord Voldemort, but he was sure that it would be every bit as fascinating as the others, if not more so. After all, he had Tom's soul inside his head. The first book had been both dry and informative, but had unfortunately stopped just before reaching the tale of Grindelwald, which meant that it hadn't even glanced at Voldemort's reign.

~I still wish that you weren't so eager to learn about what a terrible person I was,~ Tom complained.

~And I still think that you have nothing to fear. If I've put up with you in my head for this long, if I've let you terrorize my family and murder my Aunt Marge's dog, and let you kill my Uncle, and forgiven you for all of that? Then yeah, I think you have nothing to worry about,~ Harry ground out, a bit tired of reassuring Tom all the time that he wasn't just going to... to... well, it wasn't like he could just ignore somebody living inside his head anyway, was it?

~Well if you're tired of me,~ Tom began, sounding highly offended, but was interrupted by the compartment door sliding open.

"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full," the redhead who'd just entered asked, looking rather unhopeful.

"No, by all means. I think maybe somebody else might be joining me, but he's just one other so I don't see why not," Harry invited with a smile. He closed his book, then, and lowered it on his lap. Here was another wizarding student, a first year by the looks of him. He might be a new friend in the making! It was sort of wonderful to be out from Dudley's shadow like this, where he could make friends and not worry about them being run off.

~Harry,~ Tom complained, ~you can't just let any and all riff raff make friends with you. Do you have any idea what that most likely is?~

~A first year student just like me?~ Harry offered, knowing that wasn't the answer that Tom was looking for.

~You... argh!~ Tom fell silent within his mind once more, and Harry turned his attention to the boy in question. If Tom couldn't even bother to be coherent in his irritation then Harry didn't see why he should pay him any mind. After all, it wasn't like Tom paid attention when Harry was sputtering indignantly at him. And then, after a few moments of silence, Tom muttered, ~I suppose it wouldn't be the end of the world if you made friends with a Weasley. I mean, at least you'd be able to get information out of him on the movements of the Order, once the war heats back up.~

It was statements like those, so rarely uttered but always remembered, that made Harry wonder just what Tom's plans for him were. But he didn't have to worry about it now, so he distracted himself by studying the redhead across from him. Eventually, after several moments of awkward silence, Harry asked, "So you're a first year like me? Are you excited?"

The boy in question shrugged. "I guess. I've already heard loads about it from my brothers. I've got five of them all ahead of me in school, three there right now with me. All in the same house, the house that I'm probably going to. It's going to be miserable," he finished with a despondent sigh.

Harry let out a sigh of his own. To have a family and be willing to throw it away... this kid didn't know what he had. "It must be nice, having such a big family," he couldn't help but say. He fought down his own sense of wistfulness with little success.

"Ha, nice! It's a right bloody pain, it is. Can't ever do anything without hearing how one of my older brothers did it once before, and better. It's... it's miserable," the redhead muttered.

Harry frowned. "At least you have brothers to follow in the footsteps of," he said, and then immediately felt that he shouldn't have said it. Mostly because Tom was cackling in his head, and making snarky comments about, ~If that's your idea of making friends, child, I don't want to see you make an enemy.~ He looked up at the ceiling and blew his bangs back with an irritated huff of breath, only to hear a gasp from the redhead in the car with him. "What?" Harry asked, looking back at him once more.

"You're... you're Harry Potter!" the redhead stumbled, looking shocked. "I didn't... Mum didn't say that you'd be coming to school with us this year! Is that... was that the scar?" he added in a hushed whisper.

~Do you really think I have to befriend this one?~ Harry asked, a hint of a whine entering his voice. He didn't want to make friends with somebody only interested in his scar. And this one... this Weasley seemed so ungrateful for the wealth of things that he did have that it made Harry a little sick. Imagine, not wanting a family.

~I'm certainly not going to make you,~ Tom responded. ~But I think that you'll find him to be beneficial as at least an acquaintance in the long run, if not as a friend. And as far as friends on the more phoenix-oriented side of things go, a Weasley isn't too terrible a choice. At least he's a pureblood, and no doubt at least somewhat educated in wizarding culture even if it is just to know what rules to break.~

The entire speech from Tom took less than a second to the rest of the world, and Harry offered the redhead a small smile. "That's it," he whispered, and ducked his head. "But you have me at a disadvantage. I'm Harry Potter. What's your name?"

"Call me Ron. Ron Weasley. It's great to meet you," Ron said enthusiastically. "You think maybe we're gonna wind up in the Gryffindor together?"

~No.~ Tom said flatly.

"Probably not," Harry answered, sounding regretful. "It sounds like, from what I've learned of the houses, it'll be Slytherin or Ravenclaw for me. I've already got a friend who might be going to Slytherin as well, so I'm sort of looking forward to it."

"Oh," Ron muttered, looking disappointed. He was distracted by the witch offering up snacks from the trolley, and for a moment looked like he might be perking up a bit, but then he deflated abruptly.

~Weasleys are poorer than beggars. Buying him food might help things along,~ Tom suggested. ~Food always helps with children of your age.~

~Are you saying that I'd be anybody's friend if they offered me food?~ Harry asked as he went out to the trolley and decided on several of everything. After all, Tom had never managed to find a way for him to try real wizarding food, and it was a little exciting to think about all the varieties.

~Yes, that's pretty much it exactly,~ Tom sang back, obviously feeling gleeful that he scored a hit against Harry.

Harry mentally rolled his eyes at the Dark Lord within his head and returned his attention to the Ron, who was eyeing his stash with something like envy. "Would you like some?" Harry offered, and held out a pasty.

When Ron took it with a smile, Harry had to concede that Tom was probably right. He felt as though maybe he'd just cemented another friendship, and he was excited at the thought even if he wasn't a hundred percent sure about Ron's viability as a real friend. The year hadn't even started yet, and already it was turning out to be perfect!

ooOOooOOoo

It was shortly after they'd finished their snacks and another boy had come into the compartment seeking a lost toad that there was a knock on the door once again. Without waiting for a response, the door slid open revealing Draco, as well as two hulking brutes that reminded Harry an awful lot of Dudley. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of them, but fought down the urge to do anything else.

"Draco," he offered instead, with a nod of his head.

The boy blinked, as though startled, and Harry didn't need to hear Tom's irritated hissing in the back of his mind to know that he'd just messed up. Malfoy had never given him permission to call him by his given name.

~On the bright side, at least now you don't need to work too hard on faking not understanding wizarding etiquette,~ Tom grumbled. Harry could have shot himself. Tom had worked so hard drilling those lessons into his head when he was little, and the first chance he had he blew it.

He opened his mouth to apologize, both to Tom and to Draco, though the latter wouldn't realize it was directed to another person as well, when the other boy smiled at him. Well, sort of. The expression wasn't quite a smirk, but it wasn't a full-fledged smile either. It was the best he'd get while they were still tentative allies at best.

"Harry," he said, and nodded right back. Scratch that, then, because if Draco was willing to allow the use of his first name, he already counted Harry as a friend. Or was willing to pretend like it for long enough that Harry could convince him. "I've been looking for you the entire time we've been on the train. I see that you've already fallen in with some riff raff." Draco looked Ron over with a sneer firmly in place on his face, his nose wrinkling at the sight of Ron's less than immaculate robes.

Ron's face was turning red, and he was clenching his fists in a gesture of hostility. "Who do you think you're calling riff raff, you Death Eater in training?"

Harry frowned. ~Tom?~ he asked, wondering what the best course of action would be. Of course the Malfoys, a traditionally Dark family, would not get along with the Weasleys, who were of course traditionally Light. This could be a disaster in the making. ~Is there a specific reason they don't get along, or is it just the aforementioned Dark versus Light thing?~

~Blood feud,~ Tom said flatly, ~and one that I'd forgotten all about. Damn it all, now you're just going to have to scrap the plan for the Weasley boy's friendship. It won't work, not with both of them. And Draco is by far the better option in the long run.~

But Harry, who had found that when Ron wasn't whining about his older brothers was actually a very nice boy, didn't quite like that idea. There was something about Ron, something that he couldn't explain, that made him want to be Ron's friend. It was similar, but not quite the same as the thing that made Harry need to be Draco's friend, and he couldn't explain either thing in a satisfactory way.

~What was the feud about?~ Harry asked, even as he opened his mouth and said, "Ron was just explaining the marvel of chocolate frog cards to me," and pretended not to notice Draco's sneer or Ron's red face. "Do you know that I've never seen candy that moves before?"

"I would imagine that the Muggles haven't got anything similar," Draco began, "But Harry, please, I've a car waiting for us a little further up in the train, where I can introduce you to some more... respectable members of our society."

Ron was turning an alarming shade of red in the face, but before he could say anything Harry blurted out, "But I think Ron's perfectly respectable," hoping that it would distract Draco.

It did, as Draco frowned in response. "No," he said flatly. "One of the Weasley's many spawn does not now, nor has ever, counted as respectable. I don't think there's a single thing you can do to convince me otherwise."

"He was just saying how much he resents the rest of his family," Harry offered, seeing maybe a way through this mess.

~Oh, nicely done, Harry,~ Tom praised, apparently also seeing where Harry was going with this.

"Now wait just a minute here," Ron interrupted, face almost turning purple.

Draco's eyes had narrowed in consideration. "Is that what you were saying then, Weasley?" he asked, sounding just a bit more charitable than he had.

"That wasn't what... I mean, that was what I was saying but I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I meant that I..." A look passed over Ron's face then, swift and calculating and gone in a flash. But Harry knew what that look was; Harry lived with Tom in his head. Tom had taught him long ago to recognize expressions others didn't even realize they were making. "Yeah, that's what I was saying," Ron finally settled on.

"Well, then, perhaps if you wind up in Slytherin with Harry and I we can teach you about the proper ways to behave," Draco said, and settled down in one of the empty seats of the compartment. Neither of the two boys he'd brought made any move to do so, and he waived them out of the carriage with an airy, "Go stand guard or something, won't you?"

"Yessir," they both muttered, and shuffled back out of the compartment. Harry could only just see the outline of them both standing outside the door, apparently doing as Draco asked and standing guard. When somebody else approached their compartment moments later, he saw them rebuffed by the two in question.

"Who're they?" Harry asked, and winced when Tom hissed again. The contraction. He shouldn't use those when speaking formally to another, and as he'd only just made friends with both Ron and Draco, the occasion was still technically formal. These were things that he wouldn't be able to forget within Slytherin. Not if he wanted to present the proper face to the world. Not that Harry necessarily cared so much about that, so long as Tom wasn't angry with him. But Tom did care about that, and so Harry was left with again, presenting the proper face to the world.

"Crabbe and Goyle. They aren't bad as far as keeping the rest of the school off of us, but they're hopelessly thick. Father wants me to keep them with me, as a safety measure. Safety against what, I'm sure I don't know, but there you have it," Draco answered. Draco looked down and away very briefly, giving the lie away for what it was. Draco knew exactly what Crabbe and Goyle were there for, and he didn't want to say. Harry stored the information away for analysis at a later date.

"Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place in the world," Ron protested. "Don't you think that's a little bit paranoid, that your father wants you under guard?"

Harry was starting to get used to spotting flashes of expression that nobody seemed to want him to be able to catch. Something passed over Draco, just then, a darkness that took Harry's breath away, and then it was gone in a flash. "Safe maybe for Dumbledore's pets. I can assure you that I won't be one of those," Draco answered with a haughty tone to his voice.

Ron was going red in the face again. "Now hang on just a moment," he began. "You can't just go about saying things like that about the Headmaster! He's one of the greatest wizards alive!"

Draco's sneer turned ugly, and before another argument could strike up Harry interrupted with, "Ron, weren't you saying that you had a wizarding chess set that you could show me? I've never seen one before, and they sound fascinating." Harry had a feeling that he was going to be doing a lot of interrupting arguments, especially if the three of them did wind up in the same house. Ron seemed to have a bit of a temper on him, and Draco seemed to delight in needling that temper. It was a good thing that he'd had a little bit of practice dealing with that sort of nonsense with Tom and his Uncle over the years.

Of course, the two circumstances weren't entirely the same. Tom, after all, was mostly in his head and when he wasn't in Harry's head Harry had little to no control over him. So it was more that he was used to stopping himself from repeating Tom's snarky comments. But still, it seemed to be good training for this.

~Did you really just compare your Uncle and I to a set of immature eleven year olds?~ Tom asked, sounding scandalized.

~If the shoe fits,~ Harry answered with a mental shrug. Tom sputtered incoherently in the back of Harry's mind while Harry returned his attention to Ron and Draco.

"Yeah, I've got a set in my bag," Ron said, derailed from his earlier train of thought. And then, he looked at Draco and flushed a bit. "It's a bit worn," he added, apologetically.

"That's quite all right. You can't help the circumstances of your birth," Draco allowed with a nod.

Harry had to bite down a smirk, because it was clear that Draco had no idea just how condescending he sounded. But then, he was pretty sure that Draco wouldn't care if he had known.

~No, you're probably right about that,~ Tom threw out there, regaining his coherency.

The chess game was fascinating, but Harry got a little bored with it a few minutes in. ~Say, Tom, don't think for a moment that I forgot that you didn't answer my question,~ he said, even as he pretended to be paying very close attention to said chess game. It was sort of neat, actually, watching the pieces move by themselves on command. Even if he didn't quite understand all the rules of chess.

~Which question?~ Tom asked innocently. ~I don't recall ignoring any of your questions.~

Harry fought down an irritated hiss. ~You did so, and you know it. The Malfoy and Weasley blood feud, what's that nonsense about?~ And then he hesitated, and asked, ~And what's a blood feud, anyway?~

~Blood feuds are foolish ideas that wind up wiping entire pureblood lines. They're ridiculous, and I long ago forbade my followers from acknowledging old ones in any way. There are few enough purebloods left that it's foolish for us to kill one another off over insults centuries past,~ Tom ground out. ~And the Weasley-Malfoy blood feud is an ancient one, that neither family should even bother maintaining at this point.~

~Okay, but that didn't answer either of my questions,~ Harry said patiently. ~Or is this another thing that I'm far too young to know?~

~Ordinarily I'd say yes, but you seem to have gone and landed yourself in the thick of a major one. A blood feud between families is declared when a grievous insult is given by one family to another. It is essentially a fully legal armed duel between the families until such time as one family line, or more commonly both family lines, is extinct. In the instance of the Weasleys and the Malfoys, the insult occurred when the first daughter of the Weasley family, Elizabeth Weasley, was wed to the first son of the Malfoys, Jacques Malfoy, in the year of 1658.~

Harry couldn't help it, he interrupted with an incredulous, ~This has been going on for over three hundred years?~

~And so you see my problem with them,~ Tom answered. ~But as I was saying, Jacques deflowered his virgin bride, she of course became with child because the Weasleys have always been a rather fertile bunch, and when the child was born several weeks early it looked nothing like Jacques. There were accusations of infidelity, followed swiftly by an annulment of the marriage on the part of the Malfoy family, leaving dear Elizabeth unmarriageable. Whether there was actual infidelity involved or not I've never quite been able to determine, nor do I particularly care beyond idle curiosity. But the resulting scandal created a blood feud between the two families, and they've been fighting ever since. It's gotten to the point where the vast majority of two once-vast wizarding families are down to their last lines. The two lines currently represented among the student body of Hogwarts are, unless I am very much mistaken, the last of both lines. And the worst part is that I doubt that neither Ron nor Draco has any idea what caused the original feud in question.~

~That's... that's absolutely ridiculous,~ Harry finally managed. ~How in the world does the law allow for things like that to continue?~

~There are still quite a few ancient, ridiculous laws on the books. That was one of the things that I was hoping to change once I managed to topple the Ministry,~ Tom answered.

~Right, because your way of doing things sounds so much less ridiculous,~ Harry muttered, and if there was a bit of sarcasm to his voice, well, nobody called him on it.

Well, except for, ~I am well aware that my way of doing things is far from perfect, but I haven't been able to think of a better way. By all means, if you think that you can do better, I'm certainly willing to entertain ideas.~

~I'm eleven.~ Harry paused to let that statement sink in for a moment, then continued with, ~I don't have any ideas regarding world domination just yet. Give me a few years before you want me to fix the rest of the world.~

~My apologies,~ Tom said with a soft chuckle. ~You are very intelligent, and that makes it very easy for me to forget how young you really are.~

~Except for when you're telling me that I'm too young to know things,~ Harry grumbled.

"Harry, hey, Harry, aren't you listening? Maybe he fell asleep with his eyes open. Can you even do that?" Ron was saying, and Harry forced himself to pay attention to the world outside of his own head.

"Sorry, no, staring off into space. What were you saying?" Harry asked, blinking and focusing on the redhead and the blond, both watching him a little warily.

"The train's about to arrive. We need to get our robes on so that we'll be ready for the Sorting," Draco answered coolly.

It only took them a few minutes to prepare for the train to arrive, and Harry was fortunate that one of them had thought of it when they did because just as he was buttoning the last button on his robes, the train pulled into the station. His excitement began to grow as they began to gather their things together and leave the compartment.

As they were exiting the train, Ron asked, "Say, Draco, do you think that we're going to have to fight a troll? Fred and George said that we did."

"What? Don't be ridiculous Weasley. And don't call me Draco!"

Harry couldn't help but smile. Here he was, getting ready to be Sorted into his house, and he now had two friends to his name other than Tom. He couldn't help his excitement, and was hard pressed not to bounce in place.

Although he did hope that he wasn't going to have to fight a troll.

* * *

**A/N: Again, thanks all for your lovely reviews! And for all the follows and favorites. It's great to know there are people out there enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing!**


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Heir

Chapter Six-

"Firs' years this way!" Hagrid was calling, and Harry eagerly followed the sound of Hagrid's voice. He couldn't wait... he didn't even know how they'd be making their way over to Hogwarts. Tom had kept that part of things very quiet, which meant that it was a surprise that Harry would enjoy. Tom always kept things that he thought Harry would enjoy a secret, and Harry adored that about Tom.

Ron and Draco were less excited, but Harry imagined that as two purebloods growing up in the wizarding world, they probably had a better idea of what was coming. Well, aside from Ron's question about facing a troll, which had obviously not amused Draco. And was hopefully not the case. Tom coming out for the Sorting ceremony would be a disaster, and Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to stop him from manifesting if he were to actually be facing something so dangerous as a troll.

And then he spotted the edge of the lake, with its dock full of canoes, and a bright smile broke over his face. Boats!

"Have you ever ridden on a boat before?" Draco asked him as they stepped into the canoes which would hold four of them. One of the two hulking brutes that had stood guard outside of their door joined them, filling the boat just before a girl with bushy hair and slightly larger than normal front teeth could do so.

"No, I haven't. But it looks like fun!" Harry said, and fought the urge to bounce in place. Tom would definitely not approve of such behavior. And Tom was, of course, the consummate Slytherin. He would do well to do what Tom wanted, at least until he'd established himself within the wizarding world. But they were in these adorable boats, and Tom hadn't even warned him that he'd be getting to try out a boat! How could Harry be anything less than excited?

"I think that you'll enjoy the experience," Draco said, and then the boats were moving without any of them even having to row. But there was no motor, no anything to make them go. Except, of course, for magic itself. Which only made it better, because now the boats were moving and he didn't have to do any work.

Harry settled back into the boat with a small, satisfied sigh. He was already feeling quite at home, perhaps for the first time ever. How could he not be, surrounded by dozens of children just like him? ~There's nobody quite like you, Harry,~ Tom murmured, and a warm feeling of approval that Harry hadn't felt in such a long time welled within Harry.

Harry closed his eyes and savored the feeling even as he answered, ~You're just saying that Tom. I'm sure there are dozens of wizards out there that could have taken my place. It was just luck that you wound up with me rather than any of them.~

~In truth, from what little I can recall of the prophecy which ruined both of our lives, there was indeed another child available,~ Tom mused.

Harry was very surprised by the sudden hot flare of jealousy within him. ~But you didn't pick that other child. You chose me. Are you...~ Harry hesitated, then continued bravely, ~are you glad you chose me?~ He knew that Tom liked him, Tom had to like him for all that he'd done for Harry over the years. But to find out that there was another who could have taken his place... what if Tom didn't really like him all that much?

~Of course I am. If I had to be defeated by anybody, I'm glad it was you.~ Harry felt that approval curling around him again and he shivered a bit. It felt so good, Tom's approval. He would do... well, okay, he wouldn't do just _anything_ for Tom's approval, but he thought that maybe he'd do quite a bit.

But wasn't that only natural? Tom had practically raised him, done more for him than his Aunt and Uncle ever had. It was only right that Harry should look at Tom as a father figure, and should want to please him. That Tom had once upon a time been a murdering sociopath who had tried to kill him probably made the whole thing a bit unhealthy, but Harry thought that they were rather a unique circumstance.

"Harry?" Draco was saying, and Harry forced himself to open his eyes. "Are you well?" the blond asked, one immaculately sculpted brow raising in question.

Harry snickered at the expression. "I'm fine," he answered, "just a bit tired. It's been a long day already, and it's only just begun!" There were other excuses he could have used, such as seasickness or even that he was savoring the boat ride, but neither one made nearly as much sense as being tired. And, that had the advantage of not even being a lie.

It was so hard to remember that there were actual people out there in the world that wanted to interact with him. For so long it had just been him and Tom that it was... well, it wasn't impossible to remember that Draco and Ron were there and that of course they would want attention. Harry didn't believe that anything was truly impossible, except for things like bringing back the dead, but they could be difficult. It wasn't going to be an easy thing at all for Harry to get used to no longer being able to just lose himself in his own mind with Tom for a few hours.

But then, as he adjusted to Hogwarts and to being around his own kind and to having real friends rather than just Tom, Harry assumed that it would get easier. ~They aren't quite your friends you know,~ Tom pointed out, and there was a hint of something in his voice that made Harry immediately focus his entire attention on the spirit once more.

~Don't be jealous, Tom,~ Harry begged. ~Of course they're not actually my friends, not yet, but they will be. And I... I want to have real friends. Which isn't to say that you aren't great, because you really are, but... but I deserve to have some real friends as well as you, don't I?~ Harry was trembling with the thought of displeasing Tom, of making Tom go away. He hadn't worried about that in so very long, and he supposed maybe he'd taken the spirit for granted. After all, there was no saying that Tom couldn't choose to just go back to sleep and leave Harry all alone in his head once more.

~I'm not going to leave you,~ Tom muttered. ~I'm just being a grouchy old man. Now pay attention, child. You're about to see Hogwarts for the first time.~

Which wasn't quite true, since Harry knew that he'd seen bits of Hogwarts from Tom's head before. But this would be his first full view of the castle, and that was something to be savored. And he'd also missed the majority of the boat ride, but that was okay. There would be other boat rides, but it wasn't often that Harry had the chance to reassure Tom. But with Tom now reassured, and the boat just about to come out from under the overpass, Harry pulled himself back out of his own mind. He smiled to alleviate Ron and Draco's concerned looks and waited for only a moment before the view of the castle was taking his breath away.

"It's beautiful," Harry breathed. And it really, really was. It was perfect against the dark sky, all lit up like stars and... yeah. Perfect. Even the fact that it almost looked like it could fall off the cliff at any moment only made it that much more impressive, because it was clearly magic keeping it there. Tom always saved the best surprises for last, Harry thought, and sent Tom a burst of affection. Because he didn't do that enough for the spirit.

"She is, isn't she?" Ron asked. And then he spoiled the serenity of the moment with the question, "So if you don't think we have to fight a troll, what do you think we have to do?"

Draco rolled his eyes. They were docking, now, and stepping carefully out of the boats. One girl slipped, and almost fell into the lake, but Hagrid caught her before she could get too close to the water. "Honestly, Ron, all we have to do is put on a hat, and it'll tell us what house is best for us. It isn't difficult at all."

"Oh, is that all? That doesn't sound difficult at all! I wonder why my brothers would have..." Ron trailed off, as though realizing something. Then he flushed and shook his head.

"What?" Harry asked, as they walked up the path to the school. They were met at the door by a severe looking older witch, her hair pulled back into a tight, salt and pepper bun. From there Hagrid left them, and Professor McGonagall took over.

"They lied to me," Ron said. "I don't know why I expected different of Fred and George. More fool me, I guess," he said glumly. "They're always playing tricks on people, and I guess I was just another easy mark."

"I'm sure they don't mean to be cruel," Harry offered, and then fell silent as Ron shot him a dark look. Harry sighed, then muttered, "Well, I mean, I would hope that they didn't. But I don't know them, so maybe they're just rotten."

"To the core," Ron muttered.

~Harry, I need your attention again,~ Tom said suddenly, just a touch of discomfort in his voice.

~What is it?~ Harry asked, immediately focusing on the once Dark Lord. ~Is there a problem?~

~There is, and I'm an idiot. The Sorting Hat, the thing that's going to Sort you to your house? It reads minds. I'm going to have to go completely dark in here, because I don't trust the hat not to confess everything of note to Dumbledore. Your task is going to be to keep yourself from thinking about me as much as possible.~

~But Tom, that's like saying not to think of the pink elephant! All I'll be doing now is thinking about how I'm not supposed to be thinking about you!~ Harry protested. Because Tom was almost always in his thoughts, Harry wasn't even sure how to block the Hat off from Tom, if one even could.

Tom let out an irritated hiss. ~You've a point,~ he muttered. ~Then fine. We'll try something else. I'm going to attempt to present you as a natural Occlumens. That's going to make you look a bit more suspicious to the Headmaster, but no more than the Hat reporting my presence. What that means is that the next time you present yourself to the Headmaster, you'll have to catch his gaze at least once so that we can cement in his mind that you are, in fact, a natural and that the Sorting wasn't a fluke.~

~So what you're telling me is that I don't really have anything to worry about because you're going to care of this?~ Harry asked after puzzling his way through Tom's rather rambling sentence. He must be nervous, because it wasn't like the Dark Lord to ramble otherwise.

~In a word, yes,~ Tom said flatly. ~Now let me focus. And pay attention, you're about to be moving into the Great Hall.~

There were two ghosts drifting from the room, but Harry's attention was captivated by the doors opening, and Professor McGonagall leading them into the Great Hall for the first time. Again, it wasn't really anything that Harry hadn't seen before, but there was something just so exciting about being here in person for the first time. About standing in the same spot that Tom had stood, while he waited to find out what house he'd go to. Well, close to the same spot, anyway.

The Hall was every bit as huge as Tom's memories had made it out to be, and Harry was captivated by it. The enchanted ceiling was absolutely fascinating, and as the Sorting Hat began some strange song, Harry asked Tom, ~Do you know how to enchant ceilings like the Great Hall?~

~Didn't I just say I need to focus?~ Tom snapped. At the flare of hurt his words caused, Tom muttered, ~Yes, actually, I do. It's terribly advanced and not something I can teach you without your having a background knowledge in Runes. Maybe when you're older we can get around to it.~

Harry frowned. ~Why is it always when I'm older?~ he complained, not expecting an answer. Tom never answered when he was whining, and Harry knew enough about himself to know that question was the very definition of a whine. But then the Sorting Hat was finishing its song, and the Sorting was beginning, and Harry's attention was caught by the ceremony. Tom had never shown him a Sorting before. Probably because Tom thought it was boring, and Tom didn't like to show Harry boring things.

Abbot, Hannah, was called up to the little stool where Professor McGonagall handed her the hat to be placed upon her head. She sat there silently for almost a moment before the Hat shouted out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" and she scampered off to the table under the yellow and black banner.

Harry watched the rest of the Sorting with no little fascination. That one little hat could know so much about the minds of the wizards it was working with, well, it was both awe inspiring and terrifying all at once. Harry didn't like the thought of a non-living object being able to read his mind quite like that, or really, of any being be they living or non, but he supposed he didn't have a choice so long as he wanted to attend Hogwarts.

As he watched, Crabbe, Vincent went to Gryffindor, followed shortly by the other brute from the train, Goyle, Gregory. That was... strange. ~They should have gone to Slytherin,~ Tom protested. ~Both of their fathers were in Slytherin, and I know that they would have raised their sons to be very similar. I think the Headmaster's hand is involved here, and that concerns me. He must already suspect what house you're going to.~

In no time at all it was Draco's turn, and the hat had barely touched his head when it was bellowing out "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco turned and nodded at both Harry and Ron before walking off to sit with his new house. And then, after a few more students went, Harry's name was called. He heard the whispers starting up as he walked up to the stool, but ignored them. Let them talk. For the most part, he didn't care what any of them said.

_Hmm? What's this I see? Mr. Potter, I can't seem to get too far into your mind_, a soft voice whispered in Harry's ear. It wasn't quite like anything Harry had ever heard before.

_Sorry?_ he thought at the voice in question. _I'm not really sure what's going on here, or why you can't see into my mind_, he thought apologetically. _Is there a question or something I need to answer? I'm not really sure how this Sorting thing works._

_Well, it's been a very long time since a natural Occlumens sat me upon their head. You'll need to lower your shields just a... ahh, yes, there we go. Indeed, I can see that the Headmaster was quite right. There's really only one house meant for somebody like you, Mr. Potter. Watch your back; your secret is safe with me. For you, Mr. Potter, it had better be_ "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry was forcing himself to fake a smile as he hopped down from the school and handed the hat back to Professor McGonagall. She looked as though she'd swallowed a lemon sideways. ~Did the Hat notice you?~ he asked Tom urgently.

~I don't know,~ Tom responded. ~If he did, there's not much we can do about it now. I suppose we can only hope, and I'll attempt to make some contingency plans. For now, pay attention to the Sorting.~

~Where do you think Ron will wind up?~ Harry asked cautiously.

~He'll go to Gryffindor,~ Tom whispered confidently as Harry took a seat next to Draco. The whole hall was in an uproar over his Sorting, but Harry didn't actually care. He'd gone exactly where Tom wanted him to, and Draco was so obviously pleased that they'd been Sorted together that he didn't care what the rest of the world thought. After all, where had the rest of wizarding Britain been when he'd needed them when he was five? Nowhere, that's where.

~You don't know that,~ Harry shot back, and watched as the Professor clearly in charge of the Sorting managed to restore order to the rowdy group of students. It was a difficult task, but eventually the Sorting began once more.

Ron's name was called after a few other students, and Harry offered his other friend... acquaintance, if he was going to go by Tom's rules, a smile of encouragement. No matter what house Ron ended up in, Harry was determined to still be his friend. He rather liked the other boy, even if he was sort of obsessed with showing his brothers up in one way or another. For that matter, wouldn't that ambition qualify him for Slytherin?

"The Hat's been on his head for an awfully long time," Draco whispered about two minutes later. The rest of the hall had fallen silent, with the occasional break caused by a shifting student or a cough or a little giggle as the silence drew on. Even Professor McGonagall looked impatient when the Hat finally yelled out, "SLYTHERIN!" at the top of it's lungs.

There was a beat of total silence as Ron slid the hat from his head and trotted over to join both Harry and Draco, and then one of two identical redheads over at the Gryffindor table shouted out, "Bloody Hell, Ronnikins, mum's gonna go spare!"

The third redhead, the one with the prefect's badge, was going red in the face and cuffed the one that had spoken on the back of the head. "You idiot, if you get a detention before the first day of classes," the prefect shouted, "Mum'll kill you! Mum and Dad won't care what house Ron got Sorted into!"

"Mr. Weasley! If classes were in session I'd deduct points for that remark! As it stands, you'll serve detention with me first thing tomorrow evening!" Professor McGonagall shouted, and returned to the Sorting as though nothing out of the ordinary had even happened.

But Ron whispered to them, once the food had appeared and they were all enjoying gorging themselves, "I think I'm the first Weasley ever to Sort to Slytherin. Mum's gonna be pissed, Fred was right about that."

"Even so, I'm glad you've been Sorted with us," Harry offered.

Draco sniffed. "Who cares if the Blood Traitors are angry with you? Now that you've joined Slytherin, we'll be able to educate you on the proper behavior of a Pureblood such as yourself."

It was a testament to Ron's maturity that he didn't go off on Draco for insulting his family in such a way. Or rather, the credit went to Harry, who distracted Ron by sneaking a second piece of tart onto Ron's plate just before he exploded on Draco.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus Snape had been blissfully ignorant of what the coming year would be throwing in his direction. Oh, yes, he had absolutely been aware that it would be yet another year filled with incompetent fools that could no more brew a proper potion than they could take flight without the aid of a broom, but he'd forgotten the joys that would be heaped upon his person this particular school year.

He'd forgotten that this would be the year when the offspring of his Lily and that... that man came to Hogwarts.

He'd managed to keep forgetting that one small fact until such time as the boy himself walked into the Great Hall, a somewhat glazed look in those heartbreakingly familiar green eyes of his. The rest of him, though, that was all James, and Severus fought down a vicious sneer at the sight of the wire-rimmed glasses and the messy black hair, even the vacant look in his eyes. Of course the child would be as incompetent, as foolish, as the father had been. The insult was a reflexive, hateful response, and one that Lily once upon a time would have said was beneath him.

But Lily wasn't here. She was dead, presumably defending the rotten little snot standing waiting to be Sorted, and Severus could not possibly forgive the child in question for living when his Lily had not.

He closed his eyes, forced himself to breathe deeply, tried to remember that the child, Harry Potter, was most certainly not his father. Of course, he could be worse. He'd been raised a celebrity, unlike James. Harry Potter would most likely have all of his father's arrogance and none of his mother's gentleness. He would be a nightmare student, and Severus would undoubtedly be the only Professor to understand what it meant. The others would all no doubt be blinded by the boy's shining celebrity status.

It was a disgrace in the making, and Severus sneered as the Sorting began. As though there was any doubt where Potter would go. As a matter of fact...

Severus eyed the nervous group of first years with a practiced gaze. There were several students that he could tell easily what house they would go to, starting with Potter himself. Another Weasley, of course, also destined for Gryffindor. Didn't that family ever stop breeding? And oh, yes, there was the Malfoy heir, no doubt going to Slytherin. Lucius wouldn't have it any other way. There was Parkinson, also doubtlessly headed towards his own house, and a Bones who had the look of a Hufflepuff about her.

The Sorting held no surprises at all anymore, a fact which could almost disappoint Severus. He recalled them being at least somewhat exciting when he was in school.

His first two surprises came with the sorting of Crabbe, Vincent and Goyle, Gregory. He'd known both of the boys' fathers, and would have assumed them to be coming to his house. But no, both wound up in Gryffindor instead, a fact which made him frown in confusion. Gryffindor? He hadn't thought them to be particularly qualified for the house, but the Sorting Hat knew best he supposed. The Sorting continued with no other surprises for several names.

Malfoy's name was called, then, and of course he went right to Slytherin the moment the hat touched his head. Severus was unsurprised by the designation, and offered the child a nod. The nod was not seen, however, as it appeared that the boy was looking elsewhere in the line, matching gazes with... Potter? Now what could possibly be going on there?

Somewhat intrigued, Severus leaned forward a bit and watched the next bit of the ceremony. When Potter's name was called, the child strode forward confidently and settled the hat onto his head with ease. The hat sat there for only a few heartbeats before shouting out, "SLYTHERIN!" and making the entire hall go insane.

Potter didn't seem to notice a bit of it, moving swiftly over to join Malfoy at the end of the table despite several upper years making discrete gestures indicating that the child should come and join them. His house was behaving admirably considering the celebrity they'd just gained. Rather than joining in the startled shouts of surprise that the rest of the hall was indulging in, his upper years were merely looking smug, as though they'd known this was coming the entire time.

Severus sat back in his chair, a small huff of surprise leaving his lips. He hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected that at all, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of such a thing. Neither Lily nor James would have ever been Sorted into Slytherin, so there was clearly something very wrong going on here. He chanced a look over at the Headmaster, only to spot a swiftly hidden frown of consternation on the generally genial man's face.

How curious. It seemed as though there was something of a mystery to be worked through this year. And Severus absolutely adored mysteries.

But Severus had no time to consider that, as yet another surprise came his way. The Weasley boy, a sure fit for Gryffindor, went to his own house instead. That was... that was rather surprising in and of itself. Even more surprising was that the child looked pleased by his Sorting, and even more surprising than that was that the boy ran to sit with Malfoy and Potter, who both looked positively gleeful to have him there.

This... this was the start of something terrible, Severus was certain. A Weasley and Potter not only in his house but consorting with a Malfoy? Severus was almost positive that was a sign of the end of days.

ooOOooOOoo

Full in a way that he'd rarely been despite Tom's best efforts, Harry followed the rest of the students down into the dungeons for the night. It was an exciting thing, to be here at Hogwarts for his very first night, although Tom was being awfully quiet in his head right now. Which was okay, because that meant that he'd actually be able to pay attention to the prefects and the directions they were going in and everything else he would need to know about Hogwarts.

Tom stirred himself enough to point out, ~It isn't as though I'd let you get lost,~ in a rather irritated tone.

Harry responded with, ~But I don't want to just rely on you for directions all the time. I should learn my own way around.~

Tom had no response to that, and Harry was glad to not be distracted as he took in his first in person sight of the Slytherin Common Room. It was much as Tom remembered it, a large, open space with quite a few low backed black and green couches strewn around the room. There was a fireplace in the middle of the farthest wall, and bits of moss growing on the stone walls. There were green lights that lit the room nicely, and if Harry looked up at one of the far skylights, he could see water. Tom had mentioned that the dungeons expanded under the lake, but he'd failed to mention that you could actually see the lake from within the Common Room. Harry thought it might be quite nice to be able to sit under there and watch the lake from below while doing homework.

He tore his attention away from the dark bottom of the lake on the far side of the room when he noticed that the prefects were gesturing everybody to take their seats on the low couches scattered throughout. Once they had, an upper year wearing the badge of a prefect stepped forward. He had shoulder length brown hair and cold blue eyes that surveyed the first years rather impartially. Harry didn't care for the look of him at all.

"My name, for those of you who don't know, is Alexander Bennet. I am your sixth year prefect, and as such it is my duty to look after all first years. Please, do try not to make my job any harder than it might already be. I realize that it may be difficult for you, but I do ask that you all make your best attempts at it. I already have enough studying to do without mopping up your messes."

He fell silent, studying each of the first years with a scrutiny that made Harry fidget uncomfortably. "No fidgeting!" he barked out, and Harry stilled immediately. "A Slytherin does not fidget," the prefect said, not knowing that Tom was echoing him within Harry's head. "They do not fidget. They do not twiddle their thumbs. They do not cavort in the hallways like hooligans. They do not disgrace their house in any way that one can imagine, be it large or small. We are your family for the next seven years of your lives. You wouldn't want to disgrace your families, would you?"

~I'm the first prefect to have given that speech,~ Tom said smugly within Harry's mind, and Harry had to bite down a smile.

He waited until there was a round of softly whispered 'no's' from every first year in the room before continuing with, "Excellent. Now, our password currently is snake in the grass. Do not forget it. If you forget it, you will not be helped in by any upper years until five minutes after curfew, and if you are caught out after curfew, you will serve detention. If you are caught by a professor other than Professor Snape, you can be assured you will face consequences from the rest of the house as well. Our password will change every fortnight, and you will be able to see each new one posted on the bulletin board just in between the boy's and girl's dormitories."

He stopped once more, looking at all of them with hard eyes, and asked rather severely, "Now, were there any questions?" When there were none, he dismissed them with a simple, "The morning will come soon, so off to bed with the lot of you," and a wave of his hand.

Harry, Ron, and Draco made their way up to their dormitory, labelled by a shiny silver plaque as the first year boys dormitory, along with a boy named Blaise Zabini, and another boy by the name of Theodore Nott. "I just realized that Crabbe and Goyle weren't Sorted along with us," Draco said with a frown. "Which house did they wind up in?" There was a peculiar relief in his tone, and Harry added that to the mental file of odd things about Draco that would need investigating. He didn't have any such file on Ron just yet.

~That's because with a Weasley you get exactly what you see,~ Tom snarked.

"Gryffindor," Zabini said as he flung himself onto his bed, neatly labelled and with his things already on it. "No offense to them, but I'm glad we've got Weasley and Potter instead. Those two looked thicker than oaks." The tone to his voice gave away the insult of the statement, and Harry frowned at him.

Tom prodded the back of his mind as he opened his mouth to speak, and Harry let out a small sigh and fell silent. It wouldn't do to make enemies his very first night here. He chose instead to focus on his very own bed, and the fact that he was exhausted, and that Minerva was purring and waiting eagerly for him. He changed into his pajamas, settled onto his bed, and hauled his kitten into his lap, a smile coming to his face.

"You didn't bring an owl, Harry?" Draco asked as he too chose to settle into his bed. "They're dead useful."

"I didn't really have anyone to write to," Harry responded, even as exhaustion began to settle over him like a thick blanket. He let out a yawn, and didn't quite catch anybody's response, if there even was one. Bennet was right, the morning would come very soon, and Harry was so excited to be attending his first set of classes. But the excitement was no match for exhaustion, and Harry found himself dropping off to sleep much earlier than he'd intended.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus was settled into his room and studying a potion's manuscript when there was a soft, discreet tapping at the door. He wasn't an idiot; he could guess who was in the hallway and he wasn't necessarily looking forward to the conversation. But he didn't have much of a choice, so he stood and opened the door, and yes, it was the Headmaster on the other side.

"Albus," he said with a nod, and stepped back. He gave a welcoming gesture, and before too long the Headmaster was settled into his sitting room, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. Once Severus had settled himself as well he said flatly, "This is of course about the Potter boy." There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that was the case.

His suspicions were confirmed when the Headmaster's head dipped in a shallow nod. "Indeed, Severus." The man took a deep breath, followed by a sip of his tea, and then he said finally, "Not many know this, in fact, the number is currently limited to myself, Hagrid, and the boy and his family. But I think that you deserve to know, because I need you to watch the boy very carefully for me."

"Whatever you think that I need to know, Albus," Severus answered obediently. He had the feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever it was that Albus had to say, and imagined that it probably had something to do with the boy's sorting to his house.

"We cannot be sure if it was accidental, though I cannot imagine it being anything but. He's awfully young to have managed to do it on purpose, not to mention that he'd never had any formal training at the time of the incident. On the other hand, certain comments from his aunt have led me to believe that the entire thing was very much on purpose, a fact which concerns me greatly." Albus paused for a breath.

"Albus, what concerns you greatly?" Severus asked, growing impatient. He only had so many hours to finish up reading his manuscript before he had to be in bed for classes tomorrow, after all, and the Headmaster would chatter for hours when given the chance.

"Harry Potter killed his Uncle just before Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley this summer," the Headmaster said gravely. "That, combined with the sorting into Slytherin has me a bit concerned."

Severus frowned at the information. "How did he..." Severus trailed off and gestured delicately with one hand, "kill him?"

"The way that Petunia Dursley described it made it seem to be a wandless, wordless killing curse." Albus was frowning, and settled his teacup down on the table, only half finished. "Severus, I shouldn't have to tell you that I'm very concerned."

"No, I understand. I'll be sure to keep an eye on him for you, Albus, and bring anything suspicious to your attention at once." Severus studied his own teacup pensively until Albus cleared his throat. When he looked up, the Headmaster was standing.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts, then," Albus murmured, and showed himself out of the room.

Severus left his potion's manuscript on the table, forgotten, as he allowed himself to be lost in thought. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, son of Lily and James Potter, celebrity, Slytherin, and apparently a killer as well.

Very interesting.

* * *

A/N: So, did I manage to surprise anyone with the Sortings? Thanks again for all the reviews and follows! You guys warm my heart, you really do!


	8. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Seven-

At breakfast the next morning, a large black owl arrived carrying a letter for Draco. The slender blond went pasty white and snatched the letter, stuffing it into the inside of his robe without even reading it. Draco's gaze immediately went to somebody further down the Slytherin table, then jerked back to his plate before Harry could follow it.

"Who's that from, Draco?" Ron asked, even as he watched the ceiling rather warily.

"My parents," Draco answered shortly. "And don't call me that, Weasley." He went back to eating as though he hadn't just received a mysterious letter.

Harry couldn't help but note that while the blond was pretending that everything was normal, the hand holding his fork was shaking ever so slightly. ~What do you think it means, Tom?~ Harry asked.

~Lucius Malfoy always was a cruel man,~ Tom responded, rather cryptically in Harry's opinion. When pressed for further information, the spirit would say no more.

He switched his attention to something else. "Ron, what're you staring at the ceiling for? I mean, it's pretty and all, but shouldn't you be eating breakfast?"

"I'm waiting for my mum to send me a Howler," Ron said. When the morning owls stopped arriving and he still hadn't received anything, he breathed a soft sigh of relief and settled into breakfast more readily. "Looks like she either hasn't gotten the news yet or I'm going to be pulled out of the Great Hall by my ear later today."

Harry couldn't help but smile at the image of gangly, awkward looking Ron being tugged out of the Great Hall by the ear. "What a sight you'd make," Harry teased. "I promise that I would try my hardest not to choke laughing at you."

"Your mother should be proud that you've made it into Hogwarts' most noble house," one of the girls from their year, Pansy Parkinson Harry thought, said softly. She had short black hair and a rather hard face, but she might have been pretty in a few years.

~She'll grow into it,~ Tom said quietly. ~You should see her parents.~

Harry shrugged mentally. He wasn't really all that interested in what the girl would look like in a few years. There was so much more to worry about, now that he'd started at Hogwarts. Like what was going on with Professor Quirrell, for one thing.

Tom chuckled. ~You'll grow into it too, Harry.~

Harry couldn't really imagine growing into actually caring about girls, but if Tom said so he supposed it would happen. "I still don't understand why the house that you're Sorted into is such a big deal," Harry complained aloud, lest Draco and Ron grow concerned about his silence once more. He would have to watch that; it wouldn't take many for them to grow suspicious.

Draco sighed. "You're thinking, of course, that your house is only your house for the seven years of your tenure at Hogwarts. This simply isn't the case. Friendships you build within your house can carry on for an entire lifetime. These friends will have friends and family of their own, and so on. The friends of your friends are your friends, if you will. Also, you'll find that there are people out there in the world that care more about the house you've been Sorted into than your actual qualifications to perform a task. Due to our cunning and ambition, the vast majority of politicians and noblemen are, in fact, Slytherin. Of the rest that are not, there are many Ravenclaw families, who are far too intelligent to exclude a Slytherin simply for being a Slytherin, Hufflepuff families, who are too kind to exclude somebody based on their Hogwarts house, and only a handful of Gryffindor families remaining. Most were wiped out in the last war. Weasley, by joining Slytherin rather than Gryffindor, has just had many doors opened to him that might not have otherwise."

"But shouldn't his parents be happy about that?" Harry asked, as though he didn't already know all about the massive rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, or the blood feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. Because how would he know?

"I've also had a lot of doors closed to me," Ron said. His shoulders hunched in and he continued with, "There aren't many Gryffindors that will associate with Slytherins, even once we're out of school. Even if Gryffindor nobles are vastly in the minority."

"There aren't many Gryffindors worth socializing with," an upper year said, and the atmosphere of the table lightened with a burst of polite laughter.

"Alright, my little first year pets, I've got your schedules right here," Bennet said quite suddenly, breaking up the cheerful mood. "Don't all mob me at once, then," he added when none of the students moved.

Harry scraped up the last bit of eggs on his plate then hopped down from his seat to grab his schedule. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"See, look, one of you isn't entirely hopeless," Bennet said after scrutinizing Harry rather closely. Harry made sure not to fidget this time around, and Bennet patted him on the head before he went back to his seat and began to pack away his things. Why had he gotten out his Potions textbook, anyway? There were only a few minutes left in breakfast, and then they would have their first set of classes to go to!

The other first years followed his example and gathered their schedules and their things, and then they were all off together for their first set of classes.

ooOOooOOoo

Classes were... well, they were classes. On the one hand, the subjects were infinitely more fascinating than Muggle classes had ever been, even if Tom had insisted that he excel at all subjects even before Hogwarts. He found that he generally liked learning magic, and that while Tom had taught him a great deal of the magical theory behind spellcasting, it was a different thing entirely to manage the practical.

Herbology and History were both nice, considering that Tom's instruction in both of those subjects had been rather complete. More complete than Binns' instruction, at any rate. Since neither course had required a wand, Tom had spent the vast majority of his time on those courses. On nights when he couldn't sleep, especially early on when he was still recovering from his rotten first years with the Dursleys, Tom had always managed to lure him to sleep with Astronomy, so that was another easy course for Harry.

It was very nice to be the expert in something for once, and Harry enjoyed very much helping both Ron and Draco with their homework for those three classes. It was nice to have friends to help out, and it was a luxury that Harry was still savoring.

Transfigurations and Charms were both more difficult than the other three courses, but Harry found that he was actually rather good at both of the above. Again, Tom had taught him quite a lot of the theory behind using charms and transfiguring things, so now it was merely a matter of matching the wand movements and the amounts of power to the proper goals. The hardest part of those two classes was pretending like he didn't know as much about them as he did, because he didn't want Draco to get suspicious.

And then, of course, there was Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Flying Practice. All fascinating courses in their own right, but they were causing no end of trouble for Harry. Not because they were difficult, oh no, that would be an easy fix. No, it was rather the opposite problem that Harry was having, and he wasn't sure at all what to do about it.

ooOOooOOoo

The first class to give Harry trouble was Potions. It started when Professor Snape blew into the room like some great bloody bat, a comparison which had Tom snickering in the back of his head. ~Oh, Harry,~ Tom murmured chortling, and there was something strange in Tom's tone, a sort of wistfulness, but Harry was busy taking notes on the Professor's opening speech. It sounded a lot like something Tom would say when he was at his most melodramatic, to be honest.

The moment he made that connection, Tom stopped laughing in his head and fell into a rather sullen silence.

"Mr. Potter! Can you tell me what I might get if I were to add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" (1) Snape barked out suddenly.

~Draught of Living Death,~ Tom said immediately.

So used to taking answers from Tom when called upon in class, a skill which came from years of paying more attention to Tom than whoever the teacher was in primary school, Harry was repeating the answer before he could filter himself "You would have the Draught of Living Death, sir," he said with a respectful nod of his head.

~Oops,~ Tom muttered as Professor Snape stared at him in silence for a moment.

~What do you mean, 'oops'? Did you just feed me the wrong answer?~ Harry demanded.

~No, it just isn't in your first year textbook,~ Tom said rather sheepishly.

Harry fought down a groan, and didn't have a chance to react as the Potion's Master asked sharply, "And where might I find a bezoar?" (1)

This one Harry knew, and so he responded with, "In the stomach of a goat, sir, and you would use it to treat poisons," still in that same respectful tone. The bezoar was something that Tom had taught him when he was only seven years old, and he did in fact carry one with him at all times. Tom had insisted. Harry still cringed when he remembered watching as Tom completed the ghastly task of procuring one.

By Tom's irritated sigh in the back of his mind, however, Harry realized that this particular answer also wasn't in his first year textbook. But there was nothing to do but move on from there, and fortunately Snape didn't ask him any other questions.

Instead he moved on with a simple, "Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter."

Unfortunately, during the practical part of the lesson, the Longbottom boy managed to knock his entire fistful of porcupine quills into his potion well before the time they were meant to be added.

~Unless he stabilizes that with beetle's eyes, that's going to burn terribly. But I don't imagine he'll know that,~ Tom observed rather dispassionately.

Before Harry could even think about what he was doing or how he would explain it, he was moving to Longbottom's side and dropping the required beetle's eyes into the potion. He stirred it once, twice, and the angrily hissing potion returned to its normal sedate state.

~Harry!~ Tom protested. ~How do you plan on explaining that?~

"Mr. Longbottom, that will be five points from Gryffindor for nearly melting a cauldron in my classroom. Another ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter, for saving me the trouble of having to clean up his mess." Which would have been great, except that neither Professor Snape nor Draco took their eyes from him the rest of the class. Ron remained cheerfully oblivious, not noticing that anything was wrong at all

After class, as they walked through the halls, Draco asked, "How did you do that, Harry? Stabilize the potion, know the answers to those questions?"

Harry hesitated, then said, "Well, when I was picking up my school books I grabbed a beginner's book on healing magics as well. The information was in there," he lied.

The quick answer didn't stop Draco from watching him rather suspiciously the rest of the day, and Harry was very careful to be seen paging through his healing magic guide before they all turned in for bed that night. There was nothing in there at all about bezoars, the Draught of Living Death, or stabilizing potions, but Harry rather doubted that Draco knew that.

ooOOooOOoo

Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't so much a challenge magic-wise as Harry had feared it to be. As a matter of fact, he was rather excited to find that he seemed to have an aptitude for the class that was entirely unrelated to the spirit within his head. It wasn't that he didn't value Tom and his knowledge, because of course he did, but it was nice to find something he was good at apart from Tom.

And, of course, there was the mystery of what exactly Quirrell was, and why it was that Harry felt something so very familiar from the man whenever they were within a few feet from one another. Tom was appalled at the thought of the stuttering man being a horcrux, but Harry couldn't think of another explanation. Perhaps there would be some clue later that would give the mystery away, but for now Harry was quite fascinated by it and spent quite a lot of time observing the man both in class and out. He only stopped when Ron of all people noticed his obsession and asked him what was so fascinating about 'bloody Quirrell,' as Ron phrased it.

His obsession did bear some fruit, however. He managed to track Professor Quirrell to the third floor corridor, the one that the Headmaster had announced was off limits during the welcome feast. This intrigued Harry quite a lot, but as he didn't want to get caught spying by his friends any more than he wanted to get caught by Professor Quirrell himself, Harry was forced to try and give it up, a fact which irritated Tom as well.

And then there was the other source of his trouble: Flying. The class was so much fun, and Harry found that he just loved being up in the air. He was good at it, too, much the same way that he was good at Defense. Both were his own skill, according to Tom, and that made Harry all the more eager to exercise both of them. Flying was also, unfortunately, the cause of the first real fight he'd had with Tom since arriving at Hogwarts.

ooOOooOOoo

It was late at night after their first flying lesson, and the other four boys in the dorm were fast asleep. Harry, on the other hand, was lying up reading through a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ on Tom's earlier recommendation. But rather than chiming in with observations about the book as Tom was known to do, the spirit was being conspicuously silent.

~Tom?~ Harry called, and received no answer at all from the Dark Lord. ~Tom?~ he tried again, slightly louder, and still received no response.

Harry marked his page and settled the book down on the bed, then crawled under the covers and closed his eyes as though going to sleep. What he did instead was take that step back in the way that he hadn't since coming to Hogwarts, and found himself inside his own mental landscape once more.

Once again he followed the light until he reached Tom's study, and when he opened the door the spirit was sitting at his desk, stubbornly studying something that Harry couldn't quite make out.

"Tom?" Harry asked, and took a step into the room.

"What?" the Dark Lord bit out, looking up to glare at Harry.

Harry flinched from the irritation in the Dark Lord's gaze and asked softly, "Is something the matter?"

"Wherever would you get the idea that something is the matter? Everything is quite fine. You have classes in the morning, you should get some rest." Tom looked back down at his desk as he spoke, his voice more frosty than Harry had heard it in quite a while.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, taking another few steps forward until he could reach out and touch Tom's hand.

The hand in question clenched into a fist and Tom remained stubbornly silent. Harry waited for several moments, and then Tom finally blurted out, "What exactly makes you think that you'll have time to play Quidditch? There are far more important things for you to worry about now that you're here in the wizarding world!"

Harry frowned. That was what this was about? It had only been idle conversation between himself, Ron, and Draco, although Harry did admit that the idea of playing Quidditch for the house really kind of thrilled him. "What makes you think that I won't? I can't do all that much while I'm still in school," Harry said mildly.

"You don't understand, Harry! You should be... we should be working on a way to bring me back into the world! If not using, well, myself, then with another of my horcruxes! Not... not playing around with our Quidditch buddies or any other sort of nonsense! You are here at Hogwarts to learn, that I may eventually make my triumphant return to our world!" Tom stood as he spoke, towering over Harry, his red eyes alight with passion.

Harry, however, was unimpressed. "I'm here to go to school," he said flatly. When he was certain that he had Tom's full attention, he continued with, "I'm here to make friends, maybe allies, and to be a child. Because I am, in fact, still a child. In my second year, which is when I'd like to try out for the team, I'll only be twelve. I'm not going on some mad quest to bring your body back when I'm only twelve years old. Don't be ridiculous."

Harry had stormed from Tom's mental room, then, and forced himself to fall into a real sleep before Tom could follow him out and continue the argument.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry and Tom didn't speak for a week almost. Harry was barely able to tolerate the silence, though he managed to not let anybody around him know just how distressed he was. He wouldn't have been able to explain it anyway. Just as Harry was about to apologize, to relent, to tell Tom that he wouldn't try out for the Quidditch team in his second year, the Dark Lord apologized to him.

~I'm sorry, Harry,~ Tom whispered, and Harry felt his whole body sag with relief. ~Of course you're only a child, and of course you deserve to do childish and fun things. I have no right to ask you to give up your childhood for me.~

~It isn't that I don't want you to have your body back,~ Harry said apologetically.

~I know that, of course I do.~ Tom enveloped Harry in a feeling of warm approval and affection, and Harry spent the rest of the next week with a permanent smile on his face.

ooOOooOOoo

Time passed rapidly after his introduction to the classes at Hogwarts, and before Harry knew just how much time had passed, Halloween had arrived. It was particularly vexing because he still hadn't figured out what exactly it was that made something inside of him pull toward Quirrell. The only explanation, the most logical explanation, was the explanation that Tom had vetoed from minute one. That frustrated Harry to no end, because although Tom wouldn't admit that there was a possibility that Quirrell was a horcrux, he also wouldn't provide any other explanation.

So Harry continued to observe the DADA Professor, carefully because he didn't want to be caught by his friends again, fully convinced that if he just watched for long enough he might be able to figure out the mystery. He did come to the conclusion that whatever the Headmaster had placed in the third floor was clearly whatever he'd had Hagrid pick up from Gringotts, and he'd already realized that it seemed to be of a great deal of interest to Quirrell. It was more than likely that the professor was trying to obtain whatever the object was, and Harry figured that if he could figure out the object in question, he'd be able to figure out maybe what Quirrell was hiding. The only question was, what magical artifact was small enough to fit in a tiny brown paper bag and be transported by Hagrid?

"Harry, it's sort of creepy how you're always staring at Professor Quirrell," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of his sandwich at lunchtime.

Harry came back to himself with a start, realized that yes, he had been staring at the professor once more rather than eating, and redirected his gaze to stare moodily at his plate. "I know, I'm sorry," he apologized.

Draco joined them, then, exhausted and out of breath. "You really should stop staring at Professor Quirrell, Harry," he said quietly as he settled down. "I could see it all the way across the hall. He's not even that good a teacher to be impressed by."

Harry flushed. "No, I'm not... you know what? Never mind, guys. I'll try to stop. But Draco, where'd you go? You were right behind us when we left Potions."

"Didn't you hear me? I had to respond to my father's letter," Draco answered. But he wasn't touching any of the food on his plate, not even to bite into his favorite kind of crisps. His hands were trembling again, too, and Harry's frown grew more pronounced.

He opened his mouth to ask Draco if he was alright when Tom hissed at him. ~What?~ Harry asked, defensive.

~Leave it alone,~ Tom suggested. ~There's nothing you can do anyway, not when you're so young.~

~You know what's going on!~ Harry gasped out.

~Of course I do. But I'm certainly not going to tell you. Not when you're tempted to do something about it and you shouldn't even be worrying about this right now. You are, after all, only an eleven year old child.~ Tom's voice was just a bit smug.

The tips of Harry's ears turned slightly pink in his sudden burst of anger. ~Draco's my friend, Tom. If something here at the castle's hurting him, don't you think he deserves help?~

~I don't deny that, Harry, I just doubt there's anything you can actually do for him. Not now, anyway, not when he won't speak up for himself.~ Tom's voice was gentle, and kind, and Harry hated the sound of it right then.

He jerked away from his half-eaten food and stormed off to class quite suddenly, ignoring Ron's startled shouts and Draco's more hesitant inquiries as the two of them caught up to him. "I'm fine, guys," he brushed them off. "I just didn't want to be late."

"We're nowhere near late, Potter," Draco muttered with that exasperated tone that he used when Harry was being particularly odd. Like right now.

"Sorry," he said. "Must've misread my _tempus_," he added with a shrug.

"I didn't see you cast," Ron said, surprised.

"How would you have, considering that you never take your eyes off your plate when you're eating?" Draco asked silkily, even as he cast Harry an odd look of his own.

He heard Ron begin to protest and Harry smiled, letting the familiar sound of their bickering soothe him. Clearly if Draco could still tease Ron like that, things couldn't be all that bad, right?

ooOOooOOoo

After their last class of the day, and heading towards the Halloween feast, they were suddenly surrounded by a wall of red. ~If, by surrounded, you mean there are two of them then yes, Harry, you are technically surrounded,~ Tom murmured, amused.

"Aww, Ickle Ronnikins has been avoiding us ever since he got his sorting," one of the twins said.

"That's not right, is it Gred?" the second asked.

"Not right at all, Forge," the first replied.

"C'mon, you two, we're hungry, so if you could just budge off," Ron grumbled, and tried to step around them.

"Aww, but Ronnikins, don't you-" the first began.

"-want to know-" the second continued.

"-about the letter Mum sent us for you?" the two finished in stereo.

"Why would Mum send a letter to the two of you for me? I'd be more likely to believe it if it were Percy delivering the message, if it was something she couldn't send to me herself." Ron's brow was furrowed, now, and he wasn't trying to get around them anymore.

"Ron, I'm sure your mother would write you herself if she had anything to say to you. Since your brothers are notorious pranksters, I wouldn't take anything they had to say very seriously," Draco pointed out, frowning.

"Butt out, Malfoy," the first twin said, his tone frosting over. "This doesn't concern you. It's a family matter, it is. Isn't that right, Gred?"

"That's right, Forge. Mum didn't want to send the letter to you because she just didn't have the heart to do it. But Dad insisted, so here we are, delivering the rotten news," the second twin said, and both twins leaned in close to Ron as though they were about to tell him a secret. "Mum and Dad-" the second whispered.

"-don't want you-" the first murmured.

"-to come home for Christmas," both finished in stereo once more.

Ron went red, then white. "Don't be ridiculous!" he snapped.

"No, it's true," the first twin said. "We can't have a Slytherin of all things at the family Christmas celebration!"

"It isn't like we older boys really mind, but just think of the ideas it would give poor Ginny?" the second asked, shaking his head.

"You... you're lying!" Ron barked. "I want to see this letter you two supposedly have from Mum!" He held out one hand, then stared in shock as a scrap of parchment was actually dropped into it. "You have the letter?" he asked weakly, even as he lifted the piece of paper and began to read through it.

"What, did you-"

"-think we were-"

"-making this up?" Both twins had exaggerated sympathetic expressions on their face. Harry's blood was boiling just from watching.

"No, I... I guess not," Ron whispered. He pocketed the scrap of parchment, then said, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom, guys. I'll meet you at the feast, okay?" His voice, as he spoke, was choked, and when Harry dared to meet his eyes, they were swimming with tears.

"Ron," Harry began, but Ron turned and was rapidly walking away in the direction of the nearest set of bathrooms.

Harry rounded on the twins, Fred and George he thought their real names were since Ron almost never talked about them and snarled, "Don't you think there was a better time to have done that?"

He got two blank looks in return. "Done what? Played our prank?" the first twin asked, a wicked grin coming over his face.

"I'd say it was the perfect time," the second said, beginning to chuckle now that Ron was out of earshot.

Harry's rage soared to unheard of heights. "You were joking with him about that?" he roared. "Don't you know how sensitive Ron is about being Sorted to Slytherin? You... you absolute monsters!"

The second twin shrugged. "He'll get over it. None of us are going home for Christmas anyway; Mum and Dad are visiting Charlie in Romania. So we're all stuck here. We just wanted to pull his leg a little, that's all."

"There's pulling his leg and then there's making him think his family doesn't want him!" Harry snarled. He moved to draw his wand but stopped the motion midway when he realized that the only things he could think of to cast were very powerful and very dark and though the twins had definitely been cruel, they didn't necessarily deserve to wear their organs on the outside of their skin. Also, Harry had never actually cast anything of the sort on his own. It was always Tom doing the casting, and Harry wasn't certain he'd manage on the first try.

"Harry, they're not going to see that they did anything wrong," Draco said quietly, interrupting Harry's furious mental seeking for a spell that wouldn't be far too cruel to use in retaliation for a vicious prank. "Why don't we head to the Feast, and then if Ron's still in the bathroom after we can go and get him?" he suggested.

Harry was about to protest, to insist that they go and get Ron right now, when Draco's stomach rumbled. Harry was reminded that Draco probably hadn't eaten lunch at all since Harry had stormed off shortly after the other boy had arrived. So instead he murmured, "That sounds like a plan," in acquiescence.

As they left, Fred and George were laughing loudly over the success of their prank. Harry hoped they got in trouble for this, but didn't see a way of bringing about such a thing short of going to Professor Snape and then getting their attention for being a tattler.

~I'm sure we'll think of something,~ Tom murmured and Harry smiled. Tom always managed the best sorts of revenge.

ooOOooOOoo

The Great Hall was quite lovely, and the food looked to be even more so. Unfortunately, just as he was about to begin eating, Quirrell burst into the room and announced that there was a troll in the dungeons before collapsing into a dead faint.

The Headmaster dismissed them all back to their common rooms, and Harry was about to follow a grumbling Prefect Bennet back to the rooms when he remembered something and froze. "Ron's not here," he whispered to Draco, who had stopped and was waiting with one eyebrow raised.

"Then we'll let the professors know," Draco answered. "They'll find him, and we'll all be safe. Harry, a troll's nothing to mess around with."

"No, what if they can't find him in time? We saw where he was going, we can just run and grab him real fast and nobody will know we did!" Harry was already backing away from the other Slytherin first years, and once the others had rounded the corner he turned and sprinted in the other direction, back towards where they'd been cornered by the twins in the first place.

"This is a terrible idea!" Draco snarled, but he was keeping pace rather easily with Harry.

Tom was clamoring to be heard in his head as well. ~You idiot child, if you get me caught because I had to kill some ridiculous troll, I'll tan your hide the next time you come to visit me in my study! Do you hear me child? There aren't many times that I'll say this, but I'm telling you now, go and tell a prefect or a professor!~

~Oh, come on, Tom, what are the chances that we'll run into the troll?~ Harry asked, laughing a little in his head. He slowed to a walk, then.

"Harry, come on, we should just tell a professor," Draco was urging.

Quite suddenly, Harry was knocked to the ground by Ron himself. Harry could have done a victory dance at their luck, but as it was he simply said, "Ron, we found you! Listen, we have to get back to the dormitory, there's a-"

"Troll! We have to run!" Ron shrieked, and tugged Harry back to his feet. "It's right behind me!"

"Oh, bloody hell," Harry whispered as he caught sight of the massive, slobbering beast pounding down the corridor that Ron had just come from. "Let's go!" he shouted, and Draco and Ron didn't wait to be told a second time, they both took off running down the hall. Harry followed, not daring to look behind him.

The floor trembled with each step the troll behind them took, and Harry was terrified at the thought of that thing managing to catch up with them. ~You see, I warned you,~ Tom was muttering.

~Not helpful!~ Harry snarled, and then watched in horror as Ron tripped. Harry stumbled forward a few steps, momentum carrying him on, and then he whirled and found that the troll had already caught up to Ron.

There was a sickening _crack_ as the Troll lifted Ron and swung him into a wall, then flung him back down onto the ground. It raised its club, then, and Harry closed his eyes. ~Tom?~ he asked weakly, and took a step back. He couldn't let Ron die. He hadn't let Tom have control since he'd killed Vernon, but now there wasn't much of a choice, was there?

~I'll take care of it,~ Tom whispered, and Harry was looking over his own shoulder in a way he hadn't done for months.

"_Accio_ club," Tom said, almost bored, and the troll's club was flung from its hands and hurtled towards Tom. Rather than grabbing it from the air, Tom simply stepped to one side and allowed the club to clatter uselessly to the floor behind him after striking a wall. "Malfoy, do keep running," he added as an afterthought.

~You know, it doesn't count as me getting us caught if you're doing advanced magic,~ Harry grumbled. Draco, he could see, was not running but rather staring at Harry with something like shock. And terrifyingly enough, just the faintest hint of understanding.

~It does, because you got us into this mess,~ Tom said flatly, even as the troll let out an infuriated bellow and charged them.

Tom swore, dodged the clumsy attack, then snarled, "_Diffindo_!" but all that it did was open a small cut on the troll's back.

The troll had turned, then, and was charging at Tom once more. ~Sorry Harry,~ Tom whispered, sounding truly regretful, and Harry knew that Tom was done playing.

~Not the Killing Curse,~ he begged, knowing they wouldn't be able to explain that away a second time.

"_Sectumsempra_!" Tom snarled, and slashed Harry's wand in a particularly violent set of motions. The spell struck the troll straight in the chest, and Harry watched in horror as the troll's chest appeared to explode. Blood and gore coated the hallway, and the troll's momentum carried it forward for only another step before it fell to the ground, dead.

"Y-you," Draco began, stuttering. He was covered in the troll's gore, they all were, and he looked rather shell shocked.

Harry couldn't blame him; he was feeling just the same. Tom gave him control of his body back, just in time for the professors to arrive on the scene. ~The eyes do give it away,~ Tom sang when Harry tried to gather his thoughts enough to protest.

In the end, he didn't remember what he told the professors, but whatever it was, Draco backed him up on it. The two of them were awarded points for saving their friend from Professor Snape and a lecture on not going to a professor from Professor McGonagall, and then sent back to their dormitory to clean up. Ron was taken to the hospital wing, although Professor Snape did assure them that Ron should be just fine after a night under Madam Pomfrey's care.

When they arrived at the dungeons, they shocked the entire house into silence with their gory selves. They went right through the common room, the mass of students parting before them. On their way past the tables laden with food, Draco called over his shoulder, "Save Harry and I a plate, would you Blaise? Theo?"

Once they'd gotten an affirmation, the two of them went upstairs to clean up.

It was after they'd scrubbed off, changed into their pajamas, and were about to head back down that Draco whispered, "How did you do it, Harry?"

Harry froze. He didn't want to lie to Draco, but... telling him the truth was out of the question. He liked Draco, liked Draco quite a lot, but he couldn't... he couldn't be sure. Tom was seconding the notion that it was too soon to trust anybody with the truth, and Harry managed to choke out a desperate, "Huh?" as though hoping that maybe Draco might forget the question.

Draco let out a sigh far too deep for his eleven year old self. "I won't push," the blond whispered. "Just know that if you want to talk, I'm here. We all have secrets after all." And then Draco was brushing past him as though nothing had happened, and headed back down into the still-rowdy common room.

After a moment of silence from both Harry and Tom, Harry followed Draco down.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus was not a stupid man. There was no way in hell that two eleven year old children could take on a fully grown Mountain Troll all on their own. Much less manage to kill one. Yes, Weasley had been in danger, and perhaps that would have been enough to spark some form of accidental magic the way that Potter had claimed it had, but Severus was no fool, unlike Minerva.

He recognized his own spell when it was used, and what had happened to the troll's torso was most definitely the result of a particularly well-cast and aimed _sectumsempra_. It had to have been cast with more force than an eleven year old should be capable of, too, for the body to have practically exploded as it had. It looked as though the troll had been cut clear through in some spots.

Albus was certainly right. There was something very strange about Harry Potter, and Severus would not rest until he knew the truth of the matter. Something to do with the dark magic that Potter had now called upon twice, magic with a signature so very familiar to Severus... no. That couldn't be... could it?

Severus closed his eyes against the sudden burst of hope that flared within him. Wishful thinking would get him nowhere. There was still the mystery to figure out, his own wishes be damned.

* * *

(1) Though not a direct quote, Snape's questions are taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, P. 137.

**A/N: Thanks all so much for reviews, favorites, and follows! Just a fair warning, I've just restarted school for the first time in five years. It's a lot of work, so I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep up the two updates a week thing. I'll make sure to let you all know if I decide to go to Saturday only updates, though. Also, there's a secondary pairing being introduced soon. Any guesses?**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Eight-

As Professor Snape had implied, Ron was back with them in time for breakfast two days later. He didn't seem to remember much after running into Harry, but Harry thought that was probably a good thing. It couldn't be pleasant being slammed into the wall by a fully grown troll.

"I just don't understand how the two of you managed to stop a fully grown troll," Ron was complaining into his eggs. "They're supposed to be really hard to stop."

"I told you, I think that Harry was so concerned about you that there was accidental magic involved," Draco said, rather patiently in Harry's opinion, for the third time.

"That's some powerful accidental magic, Harry," Ron said around a mouthful of the eggs he'd been studying so fiercely only seconds ago. He accidentally sprayed some of them as he spoke, right at Pansy who was sitting across from him.

"That's disgusting, Weasley. Chew before you speak, please," Pansy interjected, wrinkling her nose. She brushed off her robes with her napkin and glowered at the redheaded boy.

Ron, rather than listening, instead opened his mouth to speak once more, and bit of food fell out and landed on the tablecloth, prompting a round of giggles from the first year students. Giggles which were swiftly quashed when Prefect Bennet turned a frosty gaze upon them.

And then Ron was frozen in horror because an elderly owl was winging slowly towards him, if you could even call the speed at which he drifted winging, a bright red envelope clutched in its talons. "Oh, no," he moaned, and caught the owl before it could land. Which was great, because it looked more like it was about to crash than land. "Oh, Errol, why are you bringing me bad news?" he asked mournfully. When he tried to take the red letter, however, the owl nipped at his fingers. That was when Harry noticed the more normal parchment colored envelope just behind the bright red one. "Oh, thank you Mum and Dad," Ron said fervently, and took the second envelope.

The owl then took off once more before landing in front of the twins. Harry could hear them groaning from all the way over at the Slytherin table, and then the red letter exploded as he watched and a woman's strident voice rang out.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, HOW DARE YOU TELL YOUR BROTHER THAT HE'S NOT WELCOME OVER CHRISTMAS! HE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED BECAUSE OF YOUR CRUEL STUNT! THIS IS THE MOST RIDICULOUS BIT OF NONSENSE YOU'VE PULLED SINCE YOU ENTERED HOGWARTS! YOUR FATHER AND I ARE ASHAMED OF YOU BOTH!" There was a beat of silence and then, still in that same strident tone, "RON, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT YOUR FATHER AND I ARE VERY PROUD OF YOU NO MATTER WHAT HOUSE YOU WERE SORTED INTO!" The letter then burst into flames.

Into the rather ringing silence Harry asked, "What exactly was that?"

The rest of the table burst into laughter around them, and through his giggles Draco answered, "That was a Howler, Harry. No Slytherin student has received one in over a decade."

"Yes, and let's keep it that way, shall we?" Prefect Bennet asked. "Which we won't be able to do if you lot are late to Professor Snape's class this morning," he added, one eyebrow raising in an eerie mimicry of Professor Snape's own gaze. Harry could feel something from Tom at the comparison, but the emotion, whatever it was, was swiftly shut down before Harry could try to figure it out.

Harry cast a swift _tempus_ then grumbled at the time. "Sorry, sir," he said sincerely as he hopped down and began to gather his things. The others followed him, Ron still grinning rather stupidly over the Howler his brothers had been sent and over his parents acceptance.

ooOOooOOoo

After the excitement of the Halloween incident died down, time flew for Harry once more until they'd reached the Christmas holidays. In between the two events he went to visit Hagrid once, by himself, because he thought the half-giant might be a little lonely out there in his cabin all alone, and Hagrid had invited him to tea. The visit had been nice, even if Hagrid's dog had tried to knock him down out of enthusiasm. Harry hated dogs. There was also his very first Quidditch match, which had distressed Tom to no end because all Harry could talk about for a solid week after was how he wanted to learn to play so that he'd be the best Seeker ever in his second year.

But then it was Christmas time at Hogwarts, and Harry was excited for an entirely different reason, even if he wasn't going to get any presents. Because his parents were really taking his little sister to Romania to see the dragons, Ron was staying with Harry for Christmas at Hogwarts. Draco, on the other hand, had informed them apologetically that the Malfoy family always had a massive Yule party and that he was required to attend. He had looked more and more apprehensive as the week leading up to holidays had gone on, and when he'd finally boarded the train, he'd been so pale and shaky that Harry had worried for his health on the ride back. What could possibly be so bad about going home to one's parents... unless, of course, one's parents were like the Dursleys, in which case all of Draco's apprehension made absolute sense.

Christmas morning came all too quickly, with Harry far too preoccupied with Draco's health to think of the presents he probably wouldn't be getting again this year. The season wasn't about receiving, anyway, it was about giving, and he'd made sure to give. In fact, he may have gone slightly overboard, considering that this was the first year that he'd had money to do so and people to do so for. He'd used the school owls to order gifts for Ron and Draco, and slightly less elaborate ones for the other members of his year, and another for Prefect Bennet who, despite all of his grumbling, went out of his way to keep the first years out of too much trouble. Both the other members of his class and Prefect Bennet had received the biggest boxes of Honeyduke's best that he could order, and Prefect Bennet had received a small journal as well. To Hagrid, Harry had sent a book on exotic Muggle animals on Tom's advice and a box of gourmet treats for his dog. Ron had received a massive box of Honeyduke's best chocolate as well, which Tom had assured him the boy would like because all children loved chocolate, along with a chess set in much better condition than the one he had now. It was a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin themed one, with the pieces in solid gold and white gold, with real rubies and emeralds as accents. Draco had also received a massive box of Honeyduke's best, plus a platinum bracelet shaped like a basilisk with emerald eyes and delicately etched scales that carried dozens of protective charms on it. It would heat up if he was about to ingest something dangerous and protect from several of the minor, but more uncomfortable, curses. Both Ron's and Draco's gifts had cost him a small fortune, but Tom had assured him that valuable gifts were a token of valuable friendships in the pureblooded world. It was an indication of how much he cared for both of them, and would hopefully bring them even closer together in the long run.

Christmas morning, Harry lay awake in his bed, still contemplating Draco's health and what it was that had made him shake so badly before boarding the Express. ~What do you think... what do you think is wrong with him?~ Harry asked, but received no response from Tom regarding the matter. Which meant that it related back to... ~Tom?~ Harry asked, his voice very small.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked, his own voice very gentle.

~Do you think his parents are hurting him like Uncle Vernon used to hurt me?~ He winced at the thought, though the memories of his own ordeals at the hand of his uncle were muted by six years worth of Tom's ardent protection.

~I think the possibility certainly exists,~ Tom allowed.

~Then we have to stop them!~ The thought of Draco, who was slightly stuck up, entirely too vain, but generally kind to him, the thought of that Draco being tortured by his parents was nauseating.

~And if Draco asks us to, we'll think of something. But the laws are different here, Harry, especially for a pureblood of Lucius Malfoy's status. We would have to prove the abuse in the first place, which will be impossible without Draco's consent.~

Harry scowled up at the curtains of his bed, entirely unwilling to accept that answer. Unfortunately, there wasn't really anything to be done about it, and Harry was forced to put it out of his mind as Ron woke up and exclaimed excitedly over Christmas morning.

Harry forced himself to sit up, to roll out of bed, and gaped in shock at the presents at the foot of his bed. He didn't dare to comment on the fact that he'd actually received presents, even though it was just he and Ron in the dormitory as the others had all gone home. It was a poor form to get into, relaxing where others might overhear.

"Oh, no, I think Mum sent you a sweater," Ron was saying, and Harry smiled at the sight of the lumpy package which, sure enough, contained a handmade emerald sweater and a box of homemade fudge. Harry pulled the sweater on happily and took a piece of the fudge. "You don't really have to wear it," Ron said awkwardly as he paused in the act of opening Harry's gift to him.

"But your mum went to all the trouble of making it," Harry said placidly around a mouthful of admittedly delicious fudge, and moved on to his next gift.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, and Harry smiled as he tore into Ron's gift to him, which turned out to be a huge bar of the same chocolate that he'd sent everyone else, as well as a nice leather journal that looked slightly worn around the edges. But Harry knew that for Ron these were both very expensive gifts. Knowing what he knew now about the pureblood rules of gifting, Harry was very pleased by it. Ron had probably saved his monthly allowances for the entire year thus far to manage to give these to Harry and presumably Draco.

"What, Ron?" he asked, teasing, and dared to look up.

Ron's face was flushed and he was gently touching one of the ruby and gold pawns. "It's lovely," he responded. "Thanks."

"No problem," Harry said. "I know how much you love chess."

There was a smallish package that he opened slowly, savoring every minute of it. He peeked at one corner and saw something silvery and watery and Tom was saying quite suddenly, ~Finish that one when you're alone Harry. You don't want everyone to know that you've got an invisibility cloak.~

~A what, now?~ Harry asked, even as he quickly shoved the package under his bed before Ron could look up from studying what must be Draco's gift. It was a small, flat disc made of stone with beautiful blue runes etched onto the sides of it.

When Harry opened his own present from Draco, he found the same. "What is this?" he asked Ron out loud.

Minerva the kitten, who had grown very big indeed in the last three months, was currently entertaining herself pouncing on the wrapping paper scattered throughout the room by now, and paused with a soft mewl when Harry spoke.

"Wasn't talking to you," Harry told the cat and absently batted a bit of paper her way, sending her into a frenzy trying to chase the paper ball down, then waited for Ron's response.

"It's a transporter (1)," Ron said, sounding puzzled. "You give them when the thing that you've purchased is too big to be carried by hand or by owl. I wonder what he could have bought us?"

"How do you work it?" Harry asked, intrigued. Tom was laughing at him in his head, and Harry tuned the Dark Lord out.

"You tap it in the center of the runes, then stand back quickly. Want to do them at the same time?" Ron asked, his lips quirking into a grin.

"Sure!" Harry answered, and the both of them settled their discs on the bed and then tapped them in the center with their wands. There was a moment as both sets of runes glowed in activation, and then both of their beds were filled, overflowing even, with wizarding clothing both casual and not.

"What the-" Ron muttered, as a note for each of them fluttered down and struck both of them on the heads at the same time.

Harry's note simply read:

_Harry,_

_I know that you don't have much in the way of wizarding wear, so I took it upon myself to outfit you appropriately for Slytherin house. Please do enjoy these new clothes, and for Merlin's sake, can we bin the other ones when I return?_

_Yours,_

_Draco Malfoy_

~So, Tom, was this a valuable gift for a valuable friendship?~ Harry asked as he began to sort through the mountain of clothing on his bed.

~That, Harry, would be a bit of an understatement,~ Tom responded.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus watched carefully as Harry ate at the Christmas Feast. He was talking and laughing with the Weasley boy, gesturing expansively as he explained about some such nonsense or other. Both were dressed in rather elegant new dress robes that had the look of a Malfoy's taste about them. No doubt they were the Malfoy heir's present to his two friends. Harry, young and fragile, looked somehow quite regal in those black and silver dress robes. But, despite that, there was nothing familiar in the child's gestures at all, and that made Severus's heart clench.

_Stop being foolish_, he told himself. _You already knew that it wasn't what you wanted. You have no right to be upset with him for not being what you want him to be._ His food tasted like ash in his mouth, and he stared unseeing at his plate for several minutes. Without any hope, his grief was as fresh as it had been that first November, when the dust was settling and he was entirely alone.

Almost before he knew it, the feast was over and the students were getting up to leave. Severus settled his napkin on top of his plate, the food barely touched, and strode briskly towards Weasley and Potter, who were busy gathering the loot from their crackers.

"Mr. Potter, if I might have a word with you," he murmured as soon as he'd caught up to them. He shouldn't do this; this would only lead to further heartache when he knew incontrovertibly that the boy wasn't what he wanted him to be.

The boy turned and stared at him, vivid green eyes wide in startlement. "Of course, Professor. What can I do for you?"

"In private, if you don't mind," Severus said shortly. "I'll see to it that Potter is returned to your common rooms in time for curfew, Mr. Weasley. If you could take his things back with you?"

"Of course Professor," the Weasley boy stumbled, shooting Harry a concerned look even as he took Harry's things. "I'll see you in the common room, then," he said awkwardly, and shuffled away behind Bennet.

"Is there something the matter, Professor?" the boy asked him as he followed Severus through the familiar corridors.

"Nothing's the matter, Potter, I just wanted to go over Halloween with you once more," he murmured, and stopped in front of his personal rooms. "If you would," he said, after whispering his password to the painting that guarded it.

Once they were inside, and the door had closed behind him, Severus settled Harry in one of the armchairs by the crackling fireplace. He studied the boy's face, lit by the flickering firelight, trying to see if there was anything familiar at all in his expression. There wasn't, and it made him feel like seven kinds of a fool for even considering the notion that...

"Professor?" the child prompted, a gently chiding tone to his voice that was so hauntingly familiar.

It wasn't possible. He should stop hoping. He needed to stop hoping. But... "Tom?" he asked softly, hesitantly.

The boy stared at him for a moment, his expression unchanging, and then his eyes were bleeding red, and Severus's own closed in a combination of grief and exaltation.

ooOOooOOoo

~Harry, perhaps I should have told you,~ Tom began as they were following Professor Snape through the corridors. He stopped, then, rather awkwardly, and Harry frowned.

~Perhaps you should have told me... what?~ Harry prompted. Following Professor Snape back to his rooms where the Professor apparently wanted to discuss something private with him was not necessarily the best time for Tom to be cryptic.

~Severus and I...~ Tom stopped, and Harry could feel his embarrassment in a way that he'd never felt anything like that from Tom before.

As they walked into Professor Snape's rooms, Harry still wondering at being in a professor's personal rooms, he ground out to Tom, ~Would you just spit it out?~

~We were involved!~ Tom practically shouted, and then fell silent.

Harry sat on the Professor's couch and stared at him, and Professor Snape stared right back, searching his face for something. There was no doubt what it was that Tom referred to when he said 'involved' and Harry wondered suddenly just what Professor Snape thought was going on.

"Professor?" he asked softly.

The man, greasy and sallow and gaunt and with eyes hooded in what Harry now recognized to be grief asked quietly, "Tom?" and Harry's heart shattered for the man.

~Tom?~ he asked, and took a voluntary step back.

Tom stepped forward, and Harry found himself watching over his own shoulder once more. He hated the sensation, but Professor Snape deserved to speak with the man he'd apparently once loved.

"Not quite, Severus," Tom murmured, and reached out to gently touch Severus's hand.

Severus took a great, shuddering breath and released it slowly. "But you are here," he asked, searching Harry's face eagerly.

"I am. Inside of Harry. I woke when the child was five, as his Uncle took a belt to him for breaking a glass when his cousin tripped him. He felt just enough hatred in that moment that I managed to regain my awareness."

"You made him a horcrux when you killed his mother." It wasn't a question, delivered so flatly, and Harry felt Tom's embarrassment rather acutely.

"An accidental one, yes," Tom said. "Severus... you should know..." He stopped, obviously unable to continue, and looked down and away. Harry could feel a sudden, sharp sensation of sorrow coming from Tom before Tom managed to lock down the emotion. It was too late, of course, because Harry had already felt it, and it concerned him.

Harry frowned. What had Tom so upset? He should know that Harry would let him come out to talk to Severus whenever he wanted to. Harry wouldn't be so selfish as to deny the two of them that.

"You can't leave the boy, can you? Nor can you take him over." The first wasn't really a question, and the second was said rather brokenly. The man before them was hunched over, now, his greasy hair falling in front of his face to hide his eyes. Harry had no doubt that those eyes would be just moist, if not brimming over at the news.

"I care for him too much. As though he were my own son. I can't... I fear that soon enough I'll fade into him entirely. As it stands, I am hard pressed to keep myself from allowing him to feel everything that I do. Once he starts, he'll start dreaming of my life, and that will be the beginning of the end." Tom murmured softly to Harry, ~I'm sorry child. I didn't want for you to find out in this way.~

Harry's mind swam at the thought. ~We're merging?~ he squeaked. ~What... why didn't you tell me? I don't want to lose you, Tom, I'm not ready to be by myself again!~

~Hush, child. It won't be for several years yet. I knew when I began interacting with you that this was a possibility; I'm sorry I never quite managed to find a way to tell you until now. We'll know when the process begins,~ the Dark Lord murmured, and enveloped Harry in a feeling of warmth and comfort.

Aloud, Tom said quietly, "But I'm not the only horcrux out there. There are others, as you know," he said, with a nod to Severus's chest. The Potion's Master's shaking hand came up to grasp at something hidden beneath his robes and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I will be making my way back in physical form, you know that I will. And when I do, Severus, Harry will need your support."

"I... of course. You'll want to kill him until you can figure out what he is," Severus murmured, an expression of dawning realization crossing his face.

"It won't take me long, I'm too much of a genius to not realize that Harry will essentially ensure my immortality. The wizarding world will never destroy its savior, and even if I do merge entirely with Harry, he will still count as holding a portion of my soul. He'll still bind me to this earth. No, it isn't my other self that I'm concerned about. It's another group entirely. The one faction that we both know would do anything necessary to stop Voldemort, so long as it was for the greater good."

Harry waited to see if Professor Snape would catch on, because even though he couldn't quite follow everything that the two of them were talking about, he knew that at that moment Tom was discussing Dumbledore and his Order. Whatever they'd been discussing regarding the horcruxes was more than a bit over his head.

Professor Snape nodded once, sharply, and said quietly, "I'll guard Harry with my life, Tom. Even when you've joined him completely, know that I will lay down my life for his own should it be necessary. As I will for the portion of your soul that I already carry."

"I know that you will, Severus. And we are grateful." Tom leaned up, then, and kissed Severus briefly on the lips. Harry let out a wordless noise of protest, but before he could be more coherent the kiss was already over and Tom was standing. "We should go. Ron will be getting suspicious."

"Of course, my Lord." Severus stood, swept into a low bow, and then walked to the door. "If you would? I cannot allow a student to wander the halls so late in the afternoon by himself."

Tom nodded, whispered a soft, "Goodbye for now, then," and returned control of Harry's body to himself.

"Did you have to kiss him with my mouth?" Harry asked aloud indignantly, and only remembered that Professor Snape was still right there when the older man chuckled, a warm sound that made Tom begin to laugh as well.

"I hate you all," Harry muttered as he followed the still-chuckling Professor through the halls.

ooOOooOOoo

It was late at night, so late that technically speaking it wasn't even Christmas any longer, but Harry couldn't go to sleep. He tossed and turned and finally, exasperated with himself, sat up on the bed.

~Tom?~ he asked, and got a sleepy noise as confirmation that Tom was listening. ~Why didn't you tell me that we were merging?~

He could feel Tom waking up, rousing within him. It was a particularly odd feeling, almost like when Minerva kneaded his stomach, but it was more internal than that. ~Because we've still got a few years yet until you really need to worry about me leaving you. Once you can sense all of my emotions, rather than the ones I allow you to sense, then we'll start worrying.~

~But it's definitely going to happen?~ Harry asked, and felt so very young when he asked that question.

~I'm afraid so,~ Tom murmured. Harry felt the warmth of Tom's concern then, and for the first time ever, Harry shoved it away. ~Harry?~ Tom asked, surprise coloring his voice.

~If losing you is the price I pay for being able to sense your emotions, then I'd rather not sense them,~ Harry whispered. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, the world suddenly feeling too big, too cold, too lonely. He didn't like the thought of losing Tom. Much as it terrified him, he'd come to rely upon the piece of soul living inside of him. He needed Tom, more than he'd ever needed anybody else ever.

~Harry...~ Tom trailed off, and Harry felt the sudden, strange sensation of ghostly arms around him. ~You don't have to worry about this for a long time. I'm not going anywhere just yet,~ the Dark Lord murmured, and Harry could have sworn he felt Tom's breath against his ear.

~How are you doing that?~ Harry asked, a little alarmed at the strange sensations. Was this an indication that Tom was merging more quickly into him?

Tom chuckled. ~Don't worry, it isn't any such thing,~ Tom responded. There was a moment of silence, wherein Harry savored the feeling of the loose hug, and then Tom said quietly, ~So, there's the matter of your other Christmas present that I stopped you from opening earlier in the day.~

Harry froze, then swiftly dove off the bed and reached under it, pulling out the still partially wrapped parcel. ~You said it was an invisibility cloak,~ Harry whispered, even as he tore into the paper as quietly as he could. A cloak slipped from the package, silky and silvery and Harry could feel the magic coming off of it. There was a note, too, which read simply:

_Your father left this in my possession before_

_he died. It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you_ (2)

Tom hissed in Harry's mind, vicious and violent. ~That's the Headmaster's handwriting,~ he snarled. ~He undoubtedly took that from your family vault. I swear, as soon as we can get an accounting of your vaults we're going to find a way to make that bastard pay back every knut he took.~

Harry sighed. He was eleven. He shouldn't be feeling so much like the responsible one. ~Or, you know, my father might have actually left the cloak in Dumbledore's care. Didn't you say that James was Dumbledore's man?~

~Through and through,~ Tom grumbled. ~But I still don't like it. I swear that bastard's up to no good.~

~So are you, Tom,~ Harry pointed out. He hopped down from his bed once more, and Minerva mewled plaintively at him once he'd done so. "Shh," he hissed to the cat, who shot him a dirty look but then went back to sleep, her back to him. ~So this cloak will do what now? Make me invisible?~ he asked.

~Try it and see,~ Tom suggested.

Harry hesitated. But Tom had never steered him wrong in the past, and so he flicked the cloak around himself. As it settled around him, he glanced down at himself only to find that... that he wasn't there. Harry let out a startled squeak, and Tom chuckled. ~You could have warned me!~ Harry protested.

~Warned you that what? Your invisibility cloak would make you invisible? My apologies,~ Tom murmured, still chuckling. ~Harry, your cloak will do exactly what it claims to be able to do.~

~I hate you sometimes,~ Harry hissed. He drew the hood up over his head, then, and crept from the dormitory and out into the common room.

Despite the late hour, Prefect Bennet was standing in one corner of the room, having a low-voiced argument with the fifth year male prefect, Rosen maybe? Harry wasn't sure. He couldn't hear either of them, and he didn't dare get close enough to do so. But they were both standing with their backs to the entrance hole, even if he would have to get uncomfortably close to them to make it through the door. ~Think I can get out without them noticing me?~ he asked.

~Rosier,~ Tom said shortly, and Harry breathed out a sigh. The child of one of Tom's people, then, if Tom was a bit offended that Harry hadn't guessed it. ~Not offended, I just didn't realize that Evan had managed to reproduce, that's all,~ Tom said apologetically. ~But yes, whatever they're arguing about seems to be keeping their entire attention, so I'd say you can safely sneak through.~

As Harry made his way as carefully and as quietly as he could towards the entrance, he caught just a snippet of their conversation. Rosier was saying, "You don't understand, it isn't as though I could say no! I don't have a solid family name to fall back on, my parents were confirmed Death Eaters! My career after Hogwarts relies on his favor!"

"It's ridiculous, to think that you'd debase yourself in such a way for him of all people. If you're going to play the lapdog, you should find a bigger and better master to bark after," Bennet snarled. "If I catch you at it again, I'll have you up on charges myself."

And then he was through the door and not hearing anything more of the argument. ~What do you suppose that was about?~ And then, a sly smile blooming over his face, Harry added, ~And what's a Death Eater?~

~You... I don't know what they were arguing about. Where are we headed to, anyway?~ Tom asked, and Harry could very faintly feel his embarrassment again.

~You didn't answer my second question,~ Harry sang, even as he began to wander down a disused hallway. ~And we're exploring. How old is Hogwarts? There must be some forgotten secret passages or something. Just think of how much fun it would be for Draco, Ron and I to sneak around the castle!~

~There are dozens of secret passageways. I myself discovered quite a few when I was attending, not that I'm going to encourage your delinquency by telling them to you. I was a head boy, you know, and it would be remiss of me to give you such information,~ Tom answered smugly. ~And... Death Eaters are my supporters, if you must know.~ This last was said quite rapidly, as though Tom thought that Harry wouldn't understand him if he slurred his words together.

Harry had to stop walking, he was laughing so hard. ~You named your followers Death Eaters? Really, Tom?~ he asked, leaning heavily against one of the stone walls.

~Well, if you're going to mock me over it,~ Tom said, and his tone was so affronted that it did nothing to help Harry stop laughing. ~But seriously, we could head for the library. Look into maybe what powerful magical artifacts could have fit into Hagrid's paper bag.~

Harry got himself under control and started moving once more, headed for the library at Tom's suggestion. When he was almost there, Harry stopped and wandered into a disused classroom close by. ~You've got to be kidding me, Tom. I've got this awesome cloak that lets me sneak about the school, and you really want me to go to the library of all places?~

~Well, when else do you propose that we use the Restricted Section? Although...~ Tom hesitated, then said, ~I suppose we could just ask Severus what was in the package. He might know.~

Harry banged his head against the door of the room they'd entered. ~Are you serious? I mean, really, are you serious? You just now realized that we could ask...~

~Don't take that tone with me, child!~ Tom snarled. ~I didn't want Severus to know that I was here with you. Think of how torturous it is for the both of us, to know that we're here and we cannot interact, cannot kiss, cannot... you simply are too young to understand.~

Harry immediately felt guilty. It was his fault that Professor Snape now knew about him. If he hadn't gone haring off after Ron, they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. ~I'm sorry,~ Harry offered. He hadn't meant to hurt anybody when he'd gone for Ron. In fact, he'd wanted just the opposite.

~No, it's fine,~ Tom said dismissively. ~It is what it is, and I've learned to accept that fact. I can't be with him, not anymore, not in this form. I realized there was no separating us from about a year ago, when I killed that vile dog for you. Your distress up in that tree was influencing my own moods; had it not been, I never would have cared enough to kill the pathetic little mongrel. And when another version of me returns to corporeal form, Severus will return to their side, as it should be.~ Despite Tom's casual words, Harry could sense a pain in them that he was far too young and inexperienced to understand.

Harry sighed. ~So I assume you would rather I go to the library than ask Professor Snape for whatever it was that Dumbledore's stashing on the third floor?~ He didn't want to think about Tom being stuck in his mind for the rest of their existence. It seemed so unfair to him.

~It would be preferable. No need to salt Severus's wounds any further. He's already got to be missing me something fierce,~ Tom answered.

Harry sighed. Research. On the one hand it was amazing to learn so much about the wizarding world, on the other, he hated spending his time reading dusty old books when there were so many more fun things he could be doing. Learning by doing rather than reading was always more fun. But at least if he was doing the research in the middle of the night he wouldn't be missing out on too much of the rest of the world.

He was just about to leave the room when a glint of something caught his eye. Harry froze, then turned to investigate. ~What's this?~ he asked Tom, even as he stepped closer.

'This' happened to be a full-length, massive mirror, and Harry found himself quite entranced by what he could see when he looked into it. It was painfully obvious that it wasn't real, given what he knew now about himself and Tom, and the fact that no such scene had ever happened, but the sight of it took Harry's breath away with a want he hadn't even realized he'd had.

Tom, and he, on Christmas morning. He was little, still, little enough to think that the wrapping paper was far more entertaining than the toy broomstick he'd just gotten. Tom was on the floor with him, smiling indulgently as the little Harry in the mirror tore through the wrapping paper and then picked up a piece of it and tore it again. A few moments later, a far more relaxed than Harry could ever remember seeing him Professor Snape walked into the scene, settling onto the couch in the room after kissing Tom lightly on the forehead.

~Harry, you need to look away now,~ Tom said quietly in Harry's mind.

But Harry in the mirror was older, now, and visiting Diagon Alley with both of his hands being held by Tom and Professor Snape. They were headed into the pet store where Harry had gotten Minerva, Harry gesturing excitedly at all dancing rats and Professor Snape sneering down at them before redirecting the still-little Harry towards the fantastically colored kittens.

~Harry!~ Tom called sharply, and Harry turned away from the mirror with a gasp.

~What was that?~ Harry asked, knowing that whatever it was that he'd seen it couldn't possibly be real.

~The Mirror of Erised. It shows not your face but your heart's desire. It's a terribly dangerous artifact that has been known to drive a man mad trying to reach the things shown within,~ Tom said, disapproval making his tone dark. ~That Dumbledore would bring such a thing here where any student could stumble upon it is truly sickening.~

~I should leave here,~ Harry whispered, though he dared to chance one more look towards the mirror.

~You should leave here,~ Tom agreed. ~And you should not come back. It's far too dangerous.~

Harry wrenched his gaze from the bewitching family scene within the mirror with some difficulty, then crept from the room. ~I've had enough of exploring for the night,~ he said to Tom.

Tom didn't disagree, and they went back to the dormitories.

* * *

(1) The only place I've ever seen a transporter mentioned is in Janara's lovely fanfic, "Not Your Usual Veela Mate". I use the object in question with her permission, for anybody who recognizes it. And if you don't recognize it, I do highly enjoy the fanfic and recommend it wholeheartedly.

(2) Dumbledore's letter taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, P. 202.

**A/N: Thanks all for the lovely reviews and the follows! You all know that I love hearing from you all so very much, so don't be shy to write me! Also, was anybody surprised by the new secondary pairing? Only one person bothered to guess! But they did get it right, so congratulations to them! You know who you are.**


	10. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Nine-

The Christmas holidays passed swiftly after the Mirror of Erised incident, and before Harry knew it Draco had returned to the castle, wearing his platinum bracelet and looking thinner and paler than ever. Harry hated the sight of him like that, but soon enough the fragile blond was smiling and laughing once more, and after a few good meals didn't look quite so fragile, and so Harry relaxed. It wasn't as though there was anything he could do for Draco without Draco confiding in him, anyway. So he focused his mind on other things, things like the package secreted away on the third floor.

In the end, Harry decided not to ask Professor Snape for information about the package most likely hidden away in the third floor corridor. He didn't want to upset the Professor by pouring salt in his wounds. It was obvious after their visit with him on Christmas day that the Professor wasn't quite over Tom, even if it had been the better part of a decade since Tom's passing. And anyway, as it turned out, in a stroke of luck that didn't often come for him, Harry didn't have to ask anyone at all. The information, as information occasionally tends to do, came from a very unlikely source: Hagrid.

"I don't understand why we're doing this again," Draco grumbled. He was slogging through the snow at Harry's side, Ron trudging away with the both of them, though not complaining nearly as much as Draco had.

"You certainly didn't have to come," Harry said with a small sigh. He adored both of his friends, he really did, but did Draco have to be so very... prissy? Yes, that was the word he wanted. Draco was very prissy, and it was rather annoying. "I was just talking to Hagrid earlier, thanking him for the lovely flute he gave me for Christmas, and he invited me over to his hut to see something."

"Like I'm going to let you visit that barbarian by yourself!" Draco hissed, indignant.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, to defend Hagrid and tell Draco that Hagrid was a perfectly nice half-giant, when Tom interrupted. ~I see that Draco and I can agree on one thing at least,~ Tom piped up from the back of Harry's mind. ~He probably wants to show you yet another dangerous monster he thinks is adorable.~

~I'm sensing some bitterness in there about something,~ Harry shot back, and got nothing but silence from Tom for his trouble. With a barely noticeable smirk, he said to Draco what he'd been planning on before Tom could interrupt. "Hagrid, while certainly not conventional, is not a barbarian. He's a very kind man who gifted Minerva to me, and in doing so gave me my first ever birthday present. And, he gave me a perfectly lovely Christmas present on top of that. So I'm going to visit him, because you never know when having a friend like Hagrid might come in handy."

"If you insist," Draco growled. "And just so long as my Christmas present was better than some flute."

Harry was just about to open his mouth to respond that, yes, as a matter of fact of course it was, but Ron instead chimed in with, "I don't see why you're so cranky, Draco, you didn't have to come." Clearly Harry was going to have to practice the valuable skill of interrupting people if he ever wanted to get a word in edgewise. Though, really, he should be used to this by now. He'd only been friends with Ron and Draco for how long? At least Ron was looking rather excited about meeting with Hagrid; ever since he'd seen Hagrid kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek during the Christmas feast he'd wanted to meet the grondskeeper. Anybody that had the nerve to do that was alright in Ron's book, he'd said to Harry just after Harry had returned from Professor Snape's rooms.

"How many times have I told you, Weasley, don't call me by my name! I haven't given you permission!" Draco seethed.

"Oh, come off it, Draco. After the amazing present you gave me? You can't tell me that you don't think of me as a friend!" Ron said. As he spoke, he fingered the warm sky-blue cloak that had been one of the many pieces of clothing that he and Harry had both received.

"That was for the honor of Slytherin house! Your clothing was deplorable, Weasley!" Draco protested, but there wasn't any bite in his words.

Harry was very relieved to interrupt the rather familiar argument by saying, "Guys, we're here." Both Ron and Draco stopped their bickering to stare at the rather run-down little cottage. Harry could still remember the first time he'd seen it only a month or so ago. He remembered thinking that it was somehow both not what he'd expected and exactly what he'd believed it would be.

"This is where he lives?" Draco asked, managing to fit so much more disdain into those five words than Harry had ever thought possible. "What an absolute dump."

"I think its got character," Ron shot back.

When Draco opened his mouth to respond, Harry rolled his eyes. "Both of you behave yourselves," he admonished. He then, without waiting for a response from either of them, walked right up to the door and knocked on it. He was answered almost immediately by a series of loud, booming barks that made him take an apprehensive step back. But he'd met Fang once already, so he was prepared when the door opened and the huge boarhound leapt out at him gleefully.

Harry hated dogs, loathed them with a passion after dealing with Aunt Marge's nasty mutt, but he played along gamely and rubbed at Fang's ears, cooing over the slobbering hound like he might have cooed over Minerva in his more gooey moments. Not that he ever had gooey moments. As a result, he got dog fur all over himself, plus his left sleeve covered in doggy drool, which had the bonus of making Draco look absolutely horrified which couldn't possibly be a bad thing. The blond was entirely too careful over his own appearance, and far too eager to instruct everybody else on why they should be as well.

"How was your Christmas, Hagrid?" Harry asked politely once everything had settled down and they were all seated around Hagrid's roughly carved table. He was looking around the room, trying to figure out what Hagrid had wanted him to see, when his eyes fell upon something large and distinctly egg-shaped over in the corner. His eyes widened, and he heard Tom start swearing in the back of his mind. He tuned Tom out, because otherwise Tom would be very put out at himself later on for using those words where Harry, an impressionable eleven year old, could hear.

"It weren't bad," the half-giant rumbled. "Go' a lo' of nice stuff; thanks fer tha' book yeh got me, Harry. An' Fang loved the biscuits yeh go' fer 'im." Hagrid offered him a wide, guileless smile.

Harry couldn't help but return it. There was something so very kind and wholesome about the half-giant that Harry really appreciated. "I'm glad you liked them! The flute's awesome, even if I still don't quite know how to play it properly. But I'm trying!"

"Yes, and we all wish you would stop trying," Draco threw out, a grimace on his face. "He always seems to be trying when the rest of us are sleeping," he offered to Hagrid. Draco took a sip of his tea, and Harry clearly saw the young man hide a grimace at the taste.

"Yeah, but if I try to practice the flute before I do my homework, it gives Draco fits. So I lose either way," Harry said with a sort of mock-despondence that made Draco glowerl at him. At least until he passed Draco the cream and sugar for the tea. "But Hagrid, you said you wanted to show me something? Is it perhaps that dragon egg that you're trying so hard to pretend isn't in the corner there?"

Hagrid flushed and said, "Harry, yeh know I always wanted one fer meself." The half-giant walked over to the egg and knelt down next to it, gently running a hand along the black shell. "This one'll be mine ter take care of an' to raise as me own. I've already decided I'm gonna call 'im Norbert when he hatches," Hagrid added enthusiastically.

"It's a dragon egg," Ron said, sounding entirely nonplussed. "They're illegal." He stood up, though, and went over to the egg to poke at it a bit, clearly quite curious.

"You could get sent to Azkaban this time. It's enough that you were expelled for keeping an Acromantula on school grounds, but this?" Draco sneered derisively and added, "If it hatches, you'll have a lot more trouble on your hands than you were wanting."

"Not that we're going to tell anyone, or anything like that," Harry said hastily, kicking Draco's foot under the table. The blond startled, but nodded once, sharply. "We just think that maybe we should find a safer place for the dragon? You know, then at a school where it might hatch and accidentally hurt somebody."

"Aww, Harry, it'll be jes' a baby when it hatches, it won' hur' nobody," Hagrid said, staring down at the egg rather forlornly. "'sides, I though' I could replace Fluffy the Cerberus with 'im once he's grown a bi'," Hagrid added thoughtfully.

"Fluffy the... Cerberus?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raising.

Hagrid froze. "I shouldn'ta tol' yeh that," the half-giant rumbled. "Forget I said anythin' 'bout that," he suggested.

Harry's eyes widened. "Hagrid?" he asked, as innocently as he could. "Is there a Cerberus in the school guarding the package you picked up from Gringotts that's in the third floor corridor?"

"Here now, tha' package is 'tween Nicholas Flamel an' the Headmaster, and it isn' none o' your business!" Hagrid exclaimed.

"Of course it isn't!" Harry exclaimed, and offered Hagrid his most innocent look ever. It worked, because Hagrid deflated almost immediately. ~Tom, what did Albus and Nicholas Flamel work on together, anyway?~ "But Hagrid, in all honesty, I don't think that you should be keeping a baby dragon here. I think that it's just asking for trouble."

~I'm thinking, child. Focus on this idiot's dragon problem while I figure out what's going on,~ Tom sent back rather peevishly. Harry's eyebrows arched in surprise before he brought his expression back under control, but thankfully nobody seemed to have noticed.

"But he doesn' have anywhere else ter go," Hagrid was complaining. "'f I send him somewhere, they migh' no' take proper care o' him. An' he's jes' an egg, he can' survive ou' there on 'is own."

Ron spoke up then with the offer of, "My brother works at a dragon preserve. I'm sure that they'd be able to take him on for you."

Hagrid looked so pathetically grateful at that it made Harry want to throttle the man. Honestly, who thought that raising a dragon in a wooden hut of all things was a good idea?

In the end, Ron firecalled his brother from Hagrid's hut, and it was as simple as pushing the egg through the Floo before Hagrid could change his mind. Charlie promised Hagrid to send him regular updates on the baby dragon, and to send him pictures as soon as the egg hatched. And pictures of the egg. And pictures of the egg as it hatched. Lots and lots of pictures Charlie offered to appease Hagrid, and Hagrid seemed intent on wanting more before Harry finally gently suggested that it was time to end the firecall.

The three left Hagrid's hut that night feeling rather accomplished, and once they reached the dorms and Draco and Ron had gone to bed, Harry quietly thought to Tom, ~So who's Nicholas Flamel?~

Tom let out a sigh. ~Nicholas Flamel is a rather famous wizard. I haven't quite gotten up to him yet in your magical education, and for that I'm sorry. He's the only known creator of the Sorcerer's Stone, which is no doubt what is hidden away and what Quirrell wants.~

~So that means what, exactly?~ Harry asked, because he could sense that Tom still had more to say on the matter.

~It means that you've been right all along. The reason that Quirrell seems so familiar to you is that he's carrying a piece of my soul. And he wants to use the Sorcerer's Stone to bring about my resurrection.~ Tom's thoughts were weighty, but Harry couldn't quite make out the reason behind them. He was actually rather grateful for that, because it meant that they weren't close to merging. Not now, anyway.

~So we should help him, right?~ Harry asked, just to be certain. He already knew enough about the state of the wizarding world to know that he stood against Dumbledore. The man had left him with rotten, abusive Muggles and hadn't even bothered to check on him! Besides, Dumbledore would no doubt want to get rid of Tom, and Harry wasn't having that. Not before he had to, anyway. And while he didn't necessarily agree with all of Voldemort's ideas, Harry firmly believed that the Dark Lord was at least going in the right direction. Harry had seen for himself how Muggles feared that which they didn't understand; he believed that if the truth were ever to come out to Muggles they would seek to destroy wizards. And as Tom had taught him not so long ago, a wizard couldn't fight a gun. Which meant that for now, until Harry could think of a better way, he was on the side of the Dark.

~We should help him, definitely. He'll wait until the Headmaster is out of the school, and then he'll make his move. We'll move at the same time, and see if there isn't anything we can do to help him. If he doesn't need our help to get to the Stone, then we'll just leave things well enough alone.~ There was a moment of silence, then Tom added, ~Not that I think there's much that an eleven year old child can do that I can't, even if I am at a portion of my old power and reduced to possessing a blithering idiot.~

~Are you excited? You may be about to rise again,~ Harry said teasingly, not bothering to comment that he certainly wasn't a normal eleven year old anyway, ~which was what you wanted all along.~

~I just don't know if it's too soon or not,~ Tom mused. And then, gently, ~It's late, Harry. You should rest, morning will come all too soon, and you've had a rather busy day.~

Harry nodded and curled up under his blankets, slung a careful arm around Minerva the not-so-kittenish any longer, and was asleep practically before his eyes closed.

ooOOooOOoo

After the almost incident with Hagrid and the dragon egg, Harry buckled down and focused on his classes. Classes, he found, were generally quite easy once he put his mind to it. Even history, which was boring as anything with Binns teaching it, was fascinating when Harry read through some of the library books on his own. Of course, the fact that Harry was actually doing all of his course work on his own without Tom's help didn't stop Professor Snape from cornering him one evening and demanded that he follow him to his quarters once more.

Once they'd arrived, the Professor said quite sternly, "Earlier in the year, Tom answered some questions for you in my class," with a severe frown on his face. From the look in the Professor's eyes, it was clear that he'd just now figured out what had happened on that first day of classes, when Harry had the two answers not in their first year textbook.

Harry flushed. He'd almost forgotten about that. "He hasn't done it since," Harry offered. "Well, other than last Wednesday, when I had to stabilize Neville's potion again. You'll have to forgive that; I didn't actually want to be covered in boils."

"I can certainly understand that," the Professor agreed with a sharp nod. "I would like to warn you, however, that if I catch the two of you cheating on any assignments, no matter what the reason is, I will be certain to provide you both with special assignments that will be challenging for Tom, and as such quite impossible for you, Mr. Potter."

Harry gulped. "You really won't have to do that, sir. Like I said, I haven't let Tom answer any questions for me since we accidentally did it the first time in your class. He insists that if it weren't Slytherin for me, it would have been Ravenclaw with the way that I hate to have a puzzle spoiled."

Tom pushed rather insistently against Harry's mind, so Harry sighed and took a step back with the whispered warning, "No kissing using my lips this time, okay?" Which had the added effect of Tom chuckling as he took over Harry's body.

"Honestly, Severus, the answers I gave him were more out of reflex than anything else. And it isn't as if you wouldn't have taken points had he not known the answers anyway," the Dark Lord added with a smirk.

"That, my Lord, is beside the point," Severus protested. He was smiling as he said so, but it seemed to be a bittersweet sort of smile. Harry felt such a pang of hurt for the Professor at that moment that he was hard pressed not to take his body back just to hug the man. Not that he could do that anyway. He still didn't know how to push Tom out of the 'driver's seat' of their body, just as Tom couldn't actively force Harry out of it.

But Tom seemed to hear his thoughts, and immediately stepped forward to hug the Potion's Master rather awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Severus," he murmured. "Sorry that I've done this to us."

They stood like that for a long moment, then Professor Snape sighed and placed his hands on Tom's shoulders and stepped away. "I'd rather know that you were alive and stuck in the body of a child than to know that you were dead because of my mistakes," the man murmured.

"The less said about that prophecy the better," Tom grumbled. Tom leaned up just a bit, as though going to kiss the Professor once more, then froze and jerked back. "Was there anything else you needed from us?" Tom asked, cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

Harry was really glad it wasn't just him who was weirded out by this whole thing, even if Tom's reasons for being weirded out differed greatly from his own. How strange must it be to be so much shorter and younger and more vulnerable than the lover he'd previously commanded? Not to mention, how difficult it would be to know that Severus would be moving on, eventually, with another version of him. Harry felt awful for Tom, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

"That was all. I just think that Mr. Potter should learn magic on his own, not have everything fed to him by a spirit who's already had a chance to live out his school days," Severus responded dryly.

"You've nothing to worry about, Severus. I'm sure that had we been in another universe, Mr. Potter would most definitely have wound up in Ravenclaw. He's far too curious and intelligent for his own good." Tom smiled then turned control over their body back to Harry.

"Should I be insulted by that?" Harry wondered aloud, as he left the Professor's offices.

~Not at all, child. It was a compliment to your intelligence,~ Tom murmured back.

ooOOooOOoo

After that conversation with Professor Snape, Severus, as Tom constantly called him within Harry's head, Harry found that he had little to do but sit and wait. He was more than ready for all of his exams, having studied his texts to death at Draco's urging, and for his own entertainment, not that he would let that on, so all that remained to do was wait. It was pathetically boring, but it was made more bearable by the incredibly exciting Quidditch matches as well as Draco and Ron and their incessant bickering. Both of which annoyed Tom, but for some reason Harry found that to be more of a bonus than anything else.

Perhaps he simply felt the Dark Lord was far too stodgy to be sharing his eleven year old body? Oh how he'd laughed when Tom had caught that particular thought. Tom had been nearly incoherent with rage, and there was nothing he could do. Harry couldn't help it; he so delighted in needling the Dark Lord.

The moment came, as moments such as this tend to do, when Harry least expected it. It was at dinner on a night in early June when he realized that the Headmaster was not present at the high table. ~Tom?~ Harry asked, ~Do you think that Quirrell will make his move tonight?~

~I'd say it's almost a certainty,~ Tom answered.

~So then, we sneak out after curfew and see what we can do about aiding him, if he even needs our help?~ Harry suggested.

~That seems wise. But we will need to be cautious. I'm almost certain that this is a trap of some sort. Just... not necessarily for the Dark Lord.~

~You think Dumbledore's that onto us, then?~ Harry asked. He wanted to be absolutely certain of what they would be up against.

~I think there's a possibility that Dumbledore knows more than we want him to,~ Tom answered carefully.

Harry frowned into his mashed potatoes, but ate quickly and efficiently. He was certain he would need all of his energy for whatever lay ahead.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry waited until everybody in the dormitory was asleep. This was an easy enough thing to do, considering that both Ron and Theo snored rather loudly and Blaise was almost always the first one to sleep. Draco neither snored nor was he the first to sleep, but chances were fairly good that if everybody else was out then so was Draco. He never stayed awake much past the others, anyway, at least not that Harry had noticed.

Still, to be safe, Harry waited a good twenty minutes after Ron's snoring started, then he slid out of bed and got dressed as quickly and quietly as he could. He flung his invisibility cloak around his shoulders and crept down the stairs into the common room. He'd almost made it to the door when he heard a soft voice whisper, "So, you got an invisibility cloak for Christmas?"

Harry flushed with guilt and he lowered the hood of his cloak before turning to face Draco. The slender blond was seated on the low couch closest to the door, looking right at him. It was clear that he'd been following Harry's progress through the room quite easily even with the cloak on. "It was a family heirloom, passed down anonymously from my father," he whispered. "You should be in bed, Draco," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"I'm not the one who's about to go sneaking off into some sort of danger. Confronting Professor Quirrell, perhaps?" Draco asked. He stood, revealing that he was dressed as well, in robes that Harry had never seen. They were a deep green, so dark as to be almost black, and they were entirely open. There were silver runes etched along the hem of the robes, elegant and yet clearly serving a purpose of some sort other than just as decoration.

~Duelling robes,~ Tom supplied softly. ~Now that I think of it, you should have worn the set that Draco gave you for Christmas. They provide some protection from minor curses, and the better ones can also amplify the power of some spells. You'll recognize that kind by the trim on the arms of the robes, such as that on Draco's.~

"I'm not... what are you doing down here, Draco?" Harry asked softly, rather than answering Draco's assumption. He would rather not reveal everything about himself to his friend, despite the fact that he did want to trust both Draco and Ron with this other part of himself.

Draco closed his eyes. "My father sent me the most interesting set of instructions the other day. He tells me that there is a chance that our lord will rise again this night, and that my only task is to stop any who would interfere. Like the two Slytherins who should be Gryffindors that I seem to have erroneously befriended." As he spoke, Draco's voice grew more and more frigid, until it seemed as though ice was dripping from the words. It was an odd tone for Draco to take, and it took Harry several precious seconds to figure out why the blond was using it.

And then it clicked. These were not Draco's words. Draco looked far too anguished for the words to actually be his. He was repeating somebody, no doubt his father. As though Harry didn't already have enough reason to hate the man. "Then it's a good thing that I'm not planning on interfering in our Lord's resurrection, isn't it?" Harry asked gently.

Draco's breath left him in a soundless sigh. "I told my father. I told him that you were nothing like your father. That you truly were one of us. I told him about the spell on Halloween, Harry, you have to know that I told him! But he wouldn't listen, Harry. You have to understand that I told him!" Draco's pretty grey eyes were quite desperate, and his hand were shaking now. Harry felt so very sorry for the boy.

"I understand, Draco," Harry said softly, gently. He took a step towards the now-trembling boy and offered him one hand, as though to shake. "Do you want to come with me? We could witness our Lord's return together."

Draco's trembling hand came up to grasp at Harry's own. "I'd like that," the Malfoy heir whispered.

Harry wrapped them both in his cloak. As he did so, he heard Tom grumbling in the back of his mind, ~I'm rethinking the idea of you being friends with him, Harry. He might be a little more unstable than I'd anticipated.~

~Could that have something to do with, oh, I don't know, being abused by his father?~ Harry couldn't help but snark back. ~You know, that little minor detail that I've been wanting to do something about since Christmas?~

~It certainly could, and don't take that tone with me, child.~ Tom's voice was disapproving, and Harry couldn't help his smile.

"What's so funny?" Draco asked quietly, his voice infinitely more steady now that the two of them were under the cloak together and he knew that Harry wasn't going to betray the Dark Lord.

"It's a little complicated to explain," Harry responded, still not quite willing to tell Draco about Tom, although he thought maybe he might have to soon enough. Then they were setting off through the halls in search of the mysterious third floor corridor, and all of their attention was focused on not getting caught.

ooOOooOOoo

With Tom and Draco's help, it didn't take the two of them very long at all to navigate the traps that made up the guards for the Sorcerer's Stone. Harry had been concerned that the traps in question would prove too difficult for them, but they were actually quite simple. SImple enough for two eleven year olds to navigate without much input at all from Tom, in fact. Although, having Ron there certainly would have made the giant chess set much easier. As it was, Tom fed Harry instructions to get him through that mess; Harry never would have managed it. Draco might have, but Tom was too impatient to let him try.

~This is ridiculous. It's almost like he wanted you to get the stone,~ Harry complained as they stood before the final trap, clearly designed by Professor Snape. It was the only one that was even remotely difficult, mostly because Harry had demanded that Tom let he and Draco try to solve it since it was just a riddle. Draco solved it quite simply, and the two of them moved on through the flames guarding the stone.

Professor Quirrell was in there, pacing before, of all things, the Mirror of Erised, hissing and snarling to himself about how he couldn't get it, and why couldn't he get it? "All I want is the stone, you stupid mirror!" the Professor howled. "I can see myself holding it, so why can't I get it?"

"Perhaps we could be of some assistance?" Harry offered. ~How can we be of assistance, Tom?~ he added, and Tom burst into startled laughter.

~What, you didn't come here with a plan, little one?~ Tom asked, still chuckling. ~As it happens, I believe that we can get the stone out where my other self would fail.~

"Potter! What are you doing here? Isn't it past your bedtime?" Quirrell snarled, rounding on Harry. He drew his wand in one smooth motion, then frowned. "Malfoy? Are you really turning your back on your family by trying to stop me?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

Harry blinked, because Draco had drawn his wand as well and was pointing it at Quirrell. "No, sir, I just won't stand by and let you hurt Harry. He's here to help you, not to stop you," the blond explained softly.

"What is this? Quirrell, you fool, unbind me at once!" a sharp, familiar voice commanded, and Harry smiled. He would know that voice anywhere, even with his own eyes blindfolded.

"My Lord," Harry offered, and dropped to one knee. Tom had drilled him on the proper address of the Dark Lord when in public from the moment he'd gained awareness, practically, and Harry could do nothing that would embarrass the horcrux inside of him. He owed Tom that much, and so much more besides.

"My Lord," he heard Draco echo, and when he dared to glance out of the corner of his eye, saw that Draco had followed suit and was down on one knee as well.

"I'm almost positive that I'm no lord of yours, Potter," the Dark Lord said flatly, and Harry dared to glance up. What he saw made him grimace. The Dark Lord had attached his face to the back of Quirrell's head; it was quite gruesome looking actually. "And yet, what is this I sense from you? What power is this?"

"My Lord, you gave me something on the night you killed my parents," Harry whispered. "You gave me a piece of yourself that you didn't intend on separating. This piece, which I call Tom, has been instructing me for years on the wizarding world and its deficiencies. Your way, while still not the right way in my admittedly young opinion, is better than the mess we've got now. It would be my honor to assist you in your rise to glory."

"You're my horcrux," Voldemort murmured. "How... fascinating. And you say that the piece within you has gained sentience, yet has not tried to take you over. Truly a remarkable thing. Well, Potter, you've intrigued me." The Dark Lord said with a smirk, "Prove to me that you want to help me, and I'll let you leave this chamber alive while I contemplate your loyalty and your tale. Get me the stone, as Quirrell has failed to do so."

Harry rose smoothly to his feet and stood before the mirror on Tom's instruction. ~Now, Harry, all I need for you to do is imagine that you're holding the stone, not using the stone. Keeping it safe, and above all else, not using it. And then look into the mirror,~ Tom whispered.

Harry closed his eyes, thought very fiercely of keeping the stone safe, of not using the stone, and glanced into the mirror. He saw himself, smiling, and placing an unassuming stone into his pocket. Once he felt the weight of the stone in said pocket, he turned and dropped to one knee once more, pulling the stone from his pocket and offering it up.

"My lord," he whispered.

"Good boy. Very good boy," the Dark Lord murmured. He snatched the stone from Harry's fingers, caressed it once, then said quietly, "But I can't have it looking as though the two of you were actually helpful, no, that would only make things worse for you in the long run."

Harry dared to look up, to see that Voldemort was tapping Quirrell's wand against his lips rather thoughtfully. "No, I've just the thing. I apologize, children, but it's for the best in the long run. I think you'll both agree that a touch of torture now is better than Azkaban until I can break you out. Crucio!" the Dark Lord shouted, and Draco began to writhe and scream.

Harry braced himself, and just in time as the Dark Lord once more shouted, "Crucio!" and the bolt of red light struck Harry full on. He screamed himself raw and hoarse, and the spell carried on for quite a long time, how long Harry couldn't exactly say, before it cut out rather abruptly.

As Harry lost his battle with consciousness, he heard the tap of footsteps and an old man's familiar voice saying, "Oh, dear, this isn't what was supposed to have happened at all. I wonder what could have gone wrong?"

And then he knew no more.

* * *

**A/N: Alright guys, I've finished the outline for this story and we're looking at a little less than forty chapters for book one. Assuming my characters cooperate. Also, I've posted a poll on my profile regarding one Ginny Weasley. Please respond, as I'm interested in everyone's opinions.**

**As always, thanks all for reading and reviewing! You all know that I love to hear from you!**


	11. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Ten-

~Harry, can you wake up for me?~ Tom was asking softly as Harry blinked his way slowly into consciousness.

~I'm awake,~ Harry whispered mentally, too exhausted to think much at all. His body was still singing with pain, echoed pain that had flowed over his entire body while the Dark Lord cursed him. ~Why did he... Tom? Why did he torture us?~

~Because he was right,~ Tom said regretfully. ~I wasn't thinking of it either. Of course Dumbledore would have been suspicious had he found you and Draco in perfect health with the stone missing, and your magical signatures all over his traps. No, as painful as this was, as much as I wanted to step out and kill him for hurting you, I'm certain that Voldemort made the right decision with the two of you.~

Harry sighed, let his eyes slip closed once more. ~Is Draco okay?~ he asked sleepily. ~And how long have I been out, anyway?~

~I don't know about Mr. Malfoy. I've been unable to check on him. As for how long you've been out, I would imagine not for long at all though I cannot say for certain. The Cruciatus curse doesn't generally cause much in the way of physical damage unless left on for far longer than that particular one was. Although, you will find yourself far more easily exhausted than you might ordinarily be as your magical core tries to recover.~

~Does experiencing it frequently over an extended period of time cause physical damage in children?~ Harry asked softly.

~I... I don't know. I never permitted my followers to torture children, nor did I ever make a study of such a thing.~ Tom didn't ask why Harry wanted to know, because Harry knew that Tom was thinking along the same lines. What else would a pureblooded Dark wizard use to abuse his son? Lucius Malfoy would no doubt consider it to be too plebeian to stoop to physical punishment.

"Harry? Are you awake over there?" Draco asked suddenly, his voice only slightly shaky.

Harry forced himself to sit up, to offer Draco a reassuring smile. "I am," Harry answered. He studied the other, and was much relieved by what he saw. It seemed that Draco had recovered much more quickly from the curse than Harry had. That had to be a good thing, right?

~That has to be a good thing, no,~ Tom hissed. ~I've seen such a swift recovery before in some of my older Death Eaters. That he can recover so swiftly from it means that he's experienced it a number of times before! When my other self finds out about this, there will be hell to pay. One does not torture the generation that will lead behind us, after all. Those were always my tenets, and I cannot imagine that they will have changed in the time spent incorporeal.~

Harry flinched at the frosty anger in Tom's voice, unable to control himself. He knew that the anger wasn't directed at him, but that didn't make it easy to ignore it. Especially not when he could almost feel it burning along his skin. He brought his expression back under control with some effort, but not before Draco spotted it.

"Is..." Draco lowered his voice, glanced around the room, then whispered, "is it-"

"Shh!" Harry hissed. "Not here," he said in a more normal voice. Who knew the ways that Dumbledore had to be listening to them? It wasn't worth the risk when Harry couldn't be certain that they weren't being overheard. At least, not when he didn't have his wand and couldn't cast privacy wards.

Draco clearly got what he'd meant because the blond flushed. "Sorry," he whispered, glancing down at his hands.

"It's fine," Harry murmured. "Do you know how long we've been in the hospital wing?"

Draco shook his head. "I only just woke up a few moments ago myself," the blond whispered, "so I don't have any idea. Its probably been about two days, though, or thereabouts. Your hands are still shaking with the aftereffects. So are mine," he added, and raised one trembling hand to show Harry. "That should stop by tomorrow."

"Draco..." Harry started, then trailed off awkwardly. How did one go about asking how one's best friend was so familiar with the effects of the Cruciatus Curse? It wasn't exactly something that Tom's etiquette lessons had ever prepared him for.

He never got the chance to ask, unfortunately. Or maybe it was fortunate, considering that he couldn't quite figure out how to ask the question. "Ahh, my dear boys, I see that the two of you are awake!" The Headmaster entered the room, offered both Harry and Draco a genial smile, and settled down in the rather uncomfortable in appearance chair between their beds.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry said with a nod of his head. He was very careful not to make any sort of eye contact with the Legilimens. The last thing he needed to do was give Tom away by a slip of his eye. He only hoped that Draco knew to do the same.

"Now, my dear children, I'm hoping that you can help me out with something," the Headmaster began. He was stroking his beard in a way that he probably thought looked grandfatherly and thoughtful at the same time. Harry thought that he probably had no idea how much he resembled a villain from a children's cartoon with that particular gesture. Or how similar it was to Voldemort's tapping of his wand against his lips from the night before.

"Whatever you need, Headmaster," Draco said diffidently. Harry was pleased to see that he was keeping his head down and his eyes averted. If Draco didn't know about the Headmaster's talents, he was certainly managing to take his cue from Harry.

"What exactly were the two of you doing on the third floor? Because where you were found, children, it was quite frankly a minor miracle that the two of you weren't killed!" the Headmaster exclaimed, a hint of distress in his voice.

~Harry, I need you to look up for me. I know that you don't want to, but meet his eyes. I promise, I'll take care of it,~ Tom murmured gently.

Harry rather cynically imagined that the Headmaster didn't even have to fake his distress; after all, he'd managed to lose the Sorcerer's Stone. That had to smart. He also really hoped that Tom knew what he was doing, as he looked up and met the Headmaster's gaze full on. "We heard that Professor Quirrell was going to go after whatever it was on the third floor corridor, Headmaster, and we were going to go to a professor, but we didn't think that we'd be believed! I mean, Draco and I are just two eleven year olds, who would listen to us?" Harry made certain to project a certain desperation into his voice. Desperation for the Headmaster to understand, desperation to be believed, desperation not to get caught at this, though the Headmaster wouldn't recognize that aspect of things.

He could feel the man's touch against his mind, oily and cold and altogether very uncomfortable. But he could also feel that it wasn't getting in past his shields, or rather, past the shields that were being sustained on his behalf. Harry allowed himself to relax just a bit. So long as he had Tom, the Headmaster wouldn't be able to read his mind.

"Oh, child, of course your head of house would have listened to you even if nobody else had," the Headmaster said mournfully. "And Professor McGonagall certainly would have listened to you in my absence. We were quite prepared for somebody to try and go after the stone, you see, which is why there were all those traps guarding it."

"But, sir," Harry began, and then ducked his head further as though ashamed. Dumbledore's mental fingers in his head were becoming uncomfortable, and though it wasn't painful, he wanted it to stop. Once eye contact was broken, it did.

"What is it, my dear boy?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's just that those traps were so easy to get through," Harry whispered. "The only one that gave Draco and me any trouble was the chess set, and even that would have been easy enough if we'd had Ron there." Harry was flushing as he spoke, as though he couldn't believe that he was daring to question the Headmaster.

"Oh, child, I do admit that we weren't quite planning to have a genius of Voldemort's caliber attacking the traps, and I'm certain that his passing through them made it easier for the two of you," Dumbledore murmured. "Now, can you two tell me how it was that Voldemort came to get the stone? That final trap should have been impossible for him to circumvent."

Draco burst out with, "Headmaster, it's all my fault! He pulled us in front of the Mirror, held us at wand point, and I could see the stone falling into my pocket, and then it was there! In my pocket! And somehow he knew, and he took it from me!"

"But Draco, you weren't found anywhere near the Mirror. In fact, you were found closer to the exit of the room. It was Harry that I found at the Mirror when we finally managed to reach you," Dumbledore said quite reasonably.

"He put me under this terrible curse for failing him," Harry whispered quietly. "I don't know what happened after that." Harry shivered in remembered pain. His hands were still shaking in reaction to the Cruciatus Curse, and he hoped that it would fade soon.

"Oh, child," Dumbledore murmured. "And you, Draco? How did you come to be under the Cruciatus Curse?"

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. "I... he wasn't going to hurt me, since he'd gotten what he wanted. But he was leaving, and he just left Harry under the curse, and I couldn't... I couldn't let him just leave my friend suffering like that, so I went after him. I know it was stupid, sir, but I drew my wand on the Dark Lord, and he laughed at me before throwing me under the curse as well. And then I blacked out, sir, and came to here in the hospital wing."

When Harry dared to chance a look up, Dumbledore was frowning thoughtfully. "I'm very sorry that the two of you went through all of that," the Headmaster said quietly. "But you did so well to try and stop Voldemort. Never think that you failed us in that." He stood then, slowly, as though his aging bones were aching. Like Harry would ever believe that. The man was most likely still as spry as a chicken. "Although the two of you shouldn't have been there, I'm going to award fifty points to Slytherin each for your act of bravery. That you came up against the Dark Lord and survived is a testament to both of you."

He left the room then, and Harry and Draco both sagged with relief. ~Do you think he believed us?~ Harry asked Tom.

~Not a chance,~ Tom answered. ~But what matters the most, right now, is that he can't prove anything. As long as he can't prove anything, we're safe. Because he won't want to give up on his perfect weapon against the Dark without some sort of proof.~

~Then we'll just have to be very careful not to give him that proof, right?~ Harry asked, even as his eyes drooped closed once more. He forced them open just long enough to check on Draco, only to see that the other had fallen back to sleep as well, and then he gave in as gracefully as he could. He could see what Tom meant about being easily exhausted, and wondered what that was going to mean for his final exams for the year. And then he wasn't thinking of anything else at all but the inside of his eyelids.

ooOOooOOoo

Did the children think him stupid?

He hadn't seen what had gone on in the room containing the Sorcerer's Stone, the nature Hogwarts itself made it quite impossible to review a room's memories, but did they really think him to be that stupid that he couldn't figure it out?

It was painfully clear that the Malfoy heir had somehow managed to obtain the stone on purpose to give to the Dark Lord. How Harry had been involved, Dumbledore wasn't entirely certain. Perhaps the Malfoy boy had him under the Imperius Curse? No, no, the wards around Hogwarts would sense that. It couldn't possibly be that.

But there had to be something there. He was more than intelligent enough to realize that he was being led on a merry chase by somebody, but the question was, who? Who in the world would possibly want the Dark Lord to rise again, other than both the Dark Lord himself and his followers? Was it possible that Harry had somehow been influenced to the Darker side of magic?

But no, because there had been no wizards with enough access to Harry through his formative years that could have taught him anything of the sort. And Arabella had never reported the boy coming or going at odd hours, or anything particularly odd about the relationship the boy had with his Aunt and Uncle. In fact, there had been nothing of any concern reported until the boy had snapped and wandlessly, wordlessly, cast the Killing Curse on his Uncle.

And then there was the Occlumency! How, how had the boy learned such a thing? The Hat had reported on it but Albus hadn't quite believed it. Now he didn't have a choice. The boy's shields were perfect. His mind had slid over the boy's like it was glass. He'd known Occlumens that had practiced for years that couldn't manage something like that. Was he some kind of natural Occlumens? Albus had never heard of one before, but he was certainly going to be checking up on the matter.

And to make all of this worse, Severus had found nothing on the boy. The Potions Master was his head of house, surely he would have found something, somehow by now. This was ridiculous; the man was a master spy as well. It didn't make sense that an eleven year old child could befuddle both himself and Severus.

Albus despised it when things didn't make sense.

But he had time, oh, he had time. The boy was his for the next six years. His to shape and mold into a weapon that would destroy the Dark once and for all. And if the boy wasn't willing to play the role he'd been assigned, well, there was always the Longbottom boy. And Hogwarts was a very magical school.

Accidents happened all the time.

ooOOooOOoo

When Ron had first heard that Harry and Draco were in the hospital wing, he'd been rather upset. Not for the reasons one might expect, of course, that two of his friends, one might even call them his best friends no matter what Draco said, were in the hospital. No, it was because they'd been out of the common room _doing something_ while Ron had been asleep. They presumably hadn't tried to wake him, for whatever reason, and had instead gone off on an adventure all their own. This wasn't really acceptable. Didn't they know that best friends were supposed to go on adventures together?

Madam Pomfrey had finally let him in to see them on Saturday afternoon, a whole three days after they'd been admitted in the first place. Ron had been by after classes each and every day that he'd been able to do so, much to Bennet's dismay as the prefect had to constantly fetch him from outside the hospital wing when Madam Pomfrey called on him to do so. He hadn't had any luck, but this day was different.

"Well," the Mediwitch said with a soft sigh, "they did regain consciousness yesterday, and I suppose it would do them good to see a familiar and friendly face. I'll let you in, but only if you promise not to disturb them! They're sleeping right now; if they wake while you're here you may certainly stay and visit. But if you try to wake them, child, I will have you thrown out." She was glaring at Ron as she spoke, the tone of her voice threatening dire consequences should he disturb her patients before they woke on her own.

Ron bit down a frightened squeak. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered. He hefted his bag up by its strap and said quietly, "I brought my schoolwork so that I don't disturb them."

She let out a soft, "Hmmph," and turned back into the room, holding the door open for Ron. "See to it that you don't, Mr. Weasley."

"Yes, Madam," he murmured, and entered the hospital wing.

Then he saw the two of them, both deeply asleep, and he didn't feel quite so upset that he hadn't been invited along anymore. They looked awful. Both were too thin and too pale, and it was odd because they'd only been in the hospital wing for three days. But Ron supposed that if he'd been unconscious for two days, and still mostly asleep for the the third, he might be so thin and pale too.

He settled down in the chair between the beds, which looked terribly uncomfortable but was actually not, and tried to focus on his schoolwork as both Harry and Draco were still out.

But he couldn't focus. He kept thinking about how they'd gone on an adventure without him, and they'd been hurt while doing whatever it was that they'd been doing, and he'd been jealous. What kind of a friend was he, to be jealous while his two friends were in the hospital wing? He should be ashamed of himself. This wasn't the way he'd been raised. His parents would be ashamed of him as well.

Well, no, actually, they wouldn't be. They didn't want him to be friends with Draco, after all, and if that meant not being friends with Harry, well, he was pretty sure that they'd prefer it that way. He pulled the letter he'd gotten from his Mum and Dad the day after Halloween out of his bag. He'd read the several times, so many times that the ink was starting to wear in places from his fingers rubbing against it, and no matter how many times he read it the words on the page didn't change.

_Dearest Ron,_

_We understand that you've been Sorted into Slytherin and that your brothers played a terrible prank on you on Halloween day. You have to understand that your father and I still love you no matter what house you've been Sorted into, whether it be Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or even Slytherin. Now, we are taking Ginny to visit with Charlie in Romania over the Christmas holidays, and as such we do believe that you should remain at Hogwarts over the break. We do hope that you aren't too upset by this, but Christmas at Hogwarts is wonderful and we think you'll enjoy it more than seeing the Dragon Preserve yet again._

_On a more troubling note, son, we've heard some disturbing reports from your brothers, Ron. They say that you've been spotted in the company of the Malfoy scion. This, son, is unacceptable. The Weasleys have been embroiled in a blood feud with their family for centuries; you will not be the one to change that. You are to break ties with the Malfoy brat and any of his friends by the end of the school year, or there will be repercussions._

_Your father and I love you very much, but we cannot have you consorting with Malfoys._

_Love, Mum and Dad_

Ron folded the letter back up with trembling hands. His parents had written him two more letters, both urging him to break off his blossoming friendship with Draco and do his best to turn the Boy Who Lived away from his friendship with Draco since it would_ bring nothing but ruin to the good name of the Potters, and we wouldn't want that, now would we Ron?_ as one letter stated. But the more time that Ron spent with both Harry and Draco, the less he found himself wanting to do just that.

There was something moving between the two of them, something electric. Something that promised Great Things were coming. And Ron wanted to be a part of that. He wanted to be a part of that so very badly. He was only eleven, but he wasn't an idiot. He could see when something big was coming, and something big was coming with Harry and Draco.

And if he could only be on the sidelines of that, well, so be it. Better to be on the sidelines than on the opposite team. He just hoped that he could make his parents understand why he couldn't, he just couldn't give up his friendship or do anything to drive a wedge between Draco and Harry. For one thing, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to manage it anyway. For another, it just felt wrong. And Ron hadn't been raised to do things that felt so wrong as that.

"Weasley?" came Draco's voice, hoarse with sleep. "You alright?"

"Fine, Draco," Ron answered automatically. The letter was immediately stashed back in his bag, and he offered Draco a reassuring smile. "You guys are missing a lot of class just before finals, you know," he pointed out.

Draco snorted. "Please, Weasley, like I haven't been ready for finals since Christmas break," he said with a dry little laugh that devolved into a bit of coughing.

"I've been ready since Easter," Harry offered from Ron's other side. "Has Binns livened up any since we've been out? You know, since finals are coming up?"

Ron laughed quietly. "Ahh, no such luck guys. We've all been dozing through his class, and Theo's taken to holding up these ridiculous drawings while Binns has his back turned," he said through his laughter.

"Just so long as he doesn't do anything like that in Professor Snape's class," Harry said. He yawned, then, and looked around sleepily. "Think you could get me a glass of water? Madam Pomfrey left a pitcher and some glasses on the table in the corner for us."

"No problem," Ron said easily, and got Harry the drink. "Want one, Draco?"

Draco heaved a sigh. "Since you're up anyway, that would be lovely Ron."

Ron made absolutely certain that there wasn't a smile on his face when he turned back around to give Draco and Harry their drinks. Draco certainly wouldn't appreciate it. How could his parents expect him to break this friendship off? Being friends with a Malfoy and a Potter, it could get him places. And Ron was absolutely determined to go somewhere with his life. To do big things.

And it looked like maybe he'd finally gotten through to Draco, which meant that he was one step closer to greatness.

ooOOooOOoo

Classes were done, the Leaving Feast was finished, Slytherin had won the House Cup quite handily, and the train ride home had begun. Harry was still exhausted, had been since he'd gotten out of the hospital wing a week ago just as Tom had warned him he would be. Finals had been an absolute nightmare. He was leaning against the window, still half asleep since the train left so early in the morning on the last day at the castle. Draco was all the way out. Of the three of them, only Ron was entirely awake, and was thoroughly engaged in a chess match against his own pieces. Harry wasn't sure if it was really entertaining or if he was just that sleepy, but it was captivating to watch.

~You'll be exhausted for a while yet,~ Tom murmured in Harry's head. ~The Cruciatus Curse takes a lot out of a fully grown adult wizard; I'm not surprised that it's hitting you so hard. The fact that Draco seems to be more recovered than you is very troubling. It means that we're right; he's been subject to the curse many times before. And yes, watching Weasley play chess against himself is fairly entertaining.~

~I want to kill Lucius Malfoy,~ Harry thought. ~I want to kill him so hard that he comes back and we do it again.~

Harry's sleepy, barely awake sentiment made Tom let out a startled bark of laughter. ~Really, Harry?~ Tom asked through his chuckles. ~But you were so averse to me killing dear Uncle Vernon.~

~Yes, but Uncle Vernon was only hurting me,~ Harry countered. ~Lucius Malfoy is hurting one of my best friends. I'd want to kill the Weasleys, too, if they were torturing Ron over breaks.~

Now Tom truly dissolved into hysterics. ~Oh, oh Harry!~ he managed, and then burst into slightly insane laughter once more.

~Did I say something that entertaining?~ Harry asked once Tom had settled down a bit, which only had the effect of sending Tom back into gales of laughter once more. ~Okay, seriously, are you done now? What the hell is wrong with you?~ Harry snapped, starting to get annoyed.

And a little frightened, because he could feel Tom's amusement bleeding through him, making him want to laugh as well. He didn't want to feel Tom's amusement. That meant that they were getting closer to merging, and Harry didn't want to lose Tom. He adored Tom; he needed Tom. That he might lose him was... well, it was terrifying. Harry couldn't deal with the thought of losing Tom, not right now. Not when he had Draco to worry about, and the resurrected Dark Lord that he'd managed to intrigue.

Tom was calming down now, and as he did, Harry relaxed even further against the window. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open with the soothing, rocking motion of the train. ~It's just the image of Molly and Arthur Weasley, who you've never seen before, torturing anybody. Such a thing would be anathema to them. Trust me, your friend Ron is perfectly safe in their care, no matter how angry they are with him for befriending a Malfoy.~

~Do you think they'll be angry with him?~ And then, a thought occurred to him, and Harry asked in a slightly more panicked tone, ~Do you think that we've made things worse for Draco by helping Ron to make friends with him?~

~I don't know that there's anything that could have made things worse for Draco,~ Tom said thoughtfully. And not in the least bit reassuringly, in Harry's opinion. ~And as for the Weasleys being angry with Ron, well, do keep in mind there's a blood feud there. I've no doubt that they'll be furious. But I cannot see them ever raising a hand to their son in anger.~

Harry allowed himself to relax entirely against the window at the news. ~That's nice,~ he whispered, and then the next thing he knew he was being gently shaken by Ron. "What?" he asked sleepily.

"Both of you slept pretty much the entire ride," Ron said. He'd already changed from the fine clothes that Draco had gifted him into a set of his more worn ones that had come from his parents. His face was flushed, as though embarrassed, so Harry didn't say anything. "We're about twenty minutes out from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. You two should probably be taking off your robes for the station."

Harry yawned. "Thanks, Ron," he mumbled through it. He took off his robes and folded them neatly inside his trunk. Minerva yowled at being disturbed, but settled down when Harry picked her up again.

Draco woke at the sound of Minerva's yowling and looked around rather blankly. "Are we already almost there?" he asked, one eyebrow raising at the sight of Ron's clothing. But he said nothing, and there was absolutely no indication that he'd been asleep only moments ago.

"Ron says about twenty minutes," Harry answered. He envied Draco's ability to wake up instantaneously. ~We should work on that,~ he said internally to Tom.

~Well, if you're really asking me to start waking you up at random times during the night until you can wake instantly, sure, we can do that,~ Tom said with a projected feeling of nonchalance.

Harry narrowed his eyes after several minutes of consideration. ~I'm sorry, are you offering to torture me to teach me to wake me up easily?~ It had taken him entirely too long to catch on to that. He should be ashamed.

~Well, it seemed to be what you were wanting me to do,~ Tom said cheerfully, ~and I am sort of going through withdrawal.~

And then, before he think of a proper response to that scintillating offer, the train was pulling into the station. Ron hesitated, then said quietly, "I think I'd better go out first. Only I don't want my Mum and Dad to make a scene if we run into your father, Draco." His face was lightly flushed in embarrassment and he was staring down at his shoelaces.

Draco nodded his head regally. "I understand, Ron. I wouldn't want my father to attack your parents should he catch sight of me with one of their children."

"Owl me over the summer?" Ron suggested, and there was just a bit of odd desperation in his voice that made Harry's eyes narrow.

"Of course," Draco answered. "I'll be sure to owl both of you. Valiance could use the workout." Draco's owl, a beautiful snowy bird with bright eyes, squawked at the sentence, and all three boys laughed a little.

"See you in the fall, then," Harry offered, not quite wanting to leave their side but knowing that he probably should. Since both of them seemed rather reluctant to move, Harry finally took it upon himself to grab his trunk and leave the compartment, and eventually he heard them both doing the same.

He hopped down from the train then, without looking around at the families reuniting around him, headed back towards the Muggle side of things. His Aunt wouldn't dream of crossing into the wizarding area; she'd have fits at the very idea.

There was just one problem. She wasn't there.

Harry settled in on one of the benches to wait, and wait he did while he read through his beginner's healing text once more, but she never showed up. He made it through the last half of the book for the second time, and still she didn't show. ~Tom?~ Harry asked, wanting the spirit's opinion.

~I don't think she's coming, Harry,~ Tom murmured.

~Then perhaps we should go check the house?~ Harry suggested.

~It isn't a bad idea,~ Tom said. ~Although I doubt that we'll find much of anything when we get there. If she wanted to make a clean break she'll have moved away.

He stood, then, and took his trunk out of the station, where he hailed a taxi. He and Tom climbed into the backseat of the car, and the drive passed in a rather tense silence. Harry had no idea what he'd do if he couldn't find his Aunt. He was too young to exist on his own in the Muggle world, and the Headmaster wouldn't allow him to do so in the wizarding one.

It didn't take long for the taxi to take them out to Number Four, Privet Drive, and Harry asked the driver to wait while he ran up the walk. He tapped on the door, and an unfamiliar man answered. "Can I help you?" the man asked, looking confused.

"I'm sorry, but could you tell me what happened to Petunia Dursley?" Harry asked.

The man shrugged. "Moved away over Christmas. She didn't leave a forwarding address, sorry," he added, not sounding particularly so.

"Okay, thanks," Harry said. He walked more slowly back down the walk, and when he settled into the backseat of the taxi once more, he said quietly, "Charing Cross road, please."

The cabbie looked at him like he was crazy, since they'd just come out from London, but Harry simply smiled at him. The man rolled his eyes, but threw the car into drive once more with a snarky little, "Whatever you say, sir."

~So, she's abandoned us,~ Harry said thoughtfully.

~We'll take a room at the Leaky Cauldron, then, and figure out where to go from there,~ Tom murmured. ~This isn't the end of the world.~

****~No, it's far from it,~ Harry said agreeably. So, this would be his first ever Dursley free summer. Maybe he'd use the time to take a proper holiday, after he got a full accounting of his vaults that was to say. He just hoped that he didn't somehow get into trouble over this.

* * *

A/N: You guys are awesome! Even if you do all really hate Ginny. I mean, wow, nobody likes Ginny? And so many of you think she should die in a fire! And whoever you were, with that "Who's Ginny?", just know that I'm watching you.

But seriously, guys, thanks so much for the reviews and the follows and everything. It just really means so much to me to hear from you guys. You all rock.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Eleven

The room obtained from Tom the barkeep was somewhat plain, but Harry thought it looked like paradise. All it had taken to get the room was a few crocodile tears and a story about a cousin needing emergency surgery, and his Aunt and Uncle would be by to pick him up just as soon as they could, and Tom had nodded along and given him the room with no fuss. Tom had protested that he didn't think a story was necessary as nobody would question the Boy Who Lived, but Harry didn't want to start throwing his weight around like that. He didn't want people to think of him as a bully.

Harry was tired enough that the bed, plain and covered in somewhat shabby looking brown sheets, looked perfect. All he wanted to do was crawl into it, but first he had to feed Minerva and set up her litter box in a corner. He didn't want to, he was so tired.

~You can't let your cat suffer because you're out of energy,~ Tom said coolly. ~And we need to figure out our next step.~ He sounded angry, but Harry was too tired to fret about it.

Harry resentfully put Minerva's litter box down and filled her bowl with water and cat food for her. He didn't need to use any of the above while he was at Hogwarts, but he'd purchased them for use at the Dursley residence. They'd gotten good use in the month before he went to Hogwarts, and even if he wasn't staying at Number Four anymore, they'd still get good use. But it was just a shame that it seemed like he wouldn't be staying with his Aunt this summer, wasn't it? After all, she'd so loved the thought of Harry having a cat in the first place.

This room, now that the cat was fed and Harry was using the bathroom located through a discreet door on one side of the room, was even more perfect. There was a bath that Harry could probably soak in for hours, considering that at the Dursleys he'd rarely felt comfortable enough to use theirs. Even if Tom had frightened them into submission for the most part, Harry didn't like to be naked for extended periods of time when they were about. It just seemed like inviting bad luck. But this bath alone... Harry thought that he could stay there all summer just to play in the bathtub. Of course, he was too tired to do much of anything that particular night, but there would always be the next. And the one after that.

~Harry, you can't spend the entire summer here,~ Tom said somewhat impatiently. ~The proprietor will grow suspicious the longer we stay. We should consider our next move before Dumbledore realizes we haven't returned to Number Four.~

Harry fought down a yawn and said, ~Tom, I don't really think that I'm much up to planning anything at all,~ then collapsed, still dressed, on the bed.

~Oh, come now child, you could at least change into your pajamas. Your trunk is right there!~ Tom exclaimed, exasperated with him.

Harry snarled out a vicious, ~Tom!~ catching the Dark Lord's attention. ~I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I think I'm still out of it from that bloody curse your other self saw fit to cast upon me. So I'm going to sleep, right here, in my clothing if I bloody well want to. And you're going to let me. And in the morning, we'll discuss what I'm going to do for the rest of the bloody summer.~

Tom fell silent within his mind, and Harry gratefully drifted off to sleep.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry woke up in the morning, somewhat uncertain as to where he was. The bed was sinfully comfortable, and yet not his bed at Hogwarts. His bed at Number Four was nowhere near this comfortable, seeing as the Dursleys had been reluctant to even give him a bed from the start. He was pretty sure he'd never had a new mattress there. Where in the world had he wound up?

~The Leaky Cauldron?~ Tom prompted. ~Your dear Aunt Petunia never showed up at the train station, and she'd moved from her house when we went to go and see if she was still there. Ringing any bells?~ he asked rather unnecessarily snarkily in Harry's opinion.

Harry let out a small growl. ~I remember now; there's no need to so testy,~ he chided. He sat up, ran a hand through his hair which of course only served to make it that much more messy, and put on his glasses. Now that he was more awake, the room at the Leaky Cauldron was much less appealing as a way to spend his summer. There were too many people that knew who he was; it would draw Dumbledore's attention down on him pretty much immediately.

~Finally seeing logic, are we?~ Tom snarked, and Harry wished for the millionth time that there was a way to throw pillows at the snarky git that lived in his head.

"I was tired," Harry said aloud. "I was tired, and I wasn't anywhere near rational, and you were deliberately keeping me from falling asleep. You cannot expect me to be logical under those circumstances."

~Point to you, I suppose. How dare I expect an eleven year old to be logical in times of potential duress,~ Tom mocked.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I'll be twelve in a month, you know," and realized how very childish it made him sound the moment he'd said it. It didn't help that Tom started cackling madly in his mind. "Oh, shut it," he grumbled. "I need food."

~There's a menu by the side of the bed. You can tap it with your wand and have food sent up, for a small fee of course,~ Tom provided. ~Or, at least, you could when I was still among the living. Or so I heard from my less than affluent followers.~

Harry brightened. "I've never had room service before," he said cheerfully, and found the menu in question. Sure enough, the instructions read just as Tom had said, and Harry gleefully tapped his wand against eggs, bacon, a fruit plate, and toast. He was starving.

~Couldn't have anything to do with the fact that you didn't eat dinner last night, could it?~ There was a moment, then, quietly, ~And you didn't eat lunch, either. You can't be skipping meals like that, not while your core is still recovering from the Cruciatus Curse. Your magic needs fuel to recover, and you're far too skinny to be burning off fat for such a thing.~

Harry's food arrived rather swiftly, sparing Harry the need to respond to Tom's lecture, and he made sure to tip the woman who was likely the Innkeeper's wife very well. A good tip now might ensure fast service the next time he needed food.

He fell into the food, and while he swallowed down some eggs he asked, ~Does the Cruciatus Curse really do that much damage in the few minutes that we were under it?~ He was morbidly curious regarding the topic. Also, if he was going to be affiliating himself with Voldemort in any way, he should probably know the side-effects of the Dark Lord's favorite punishment.

~The Cruciatus Curse hurts so very much because it attacks on two levels. The first level is the nervous system. Too much exposure to the Cruciatus Curse at any age can lead to permanent nervous damage, such as a constant tremor and difficulty speaking. The second level that it attacks is the magical core. Exposure to the Cruciatus Curse can lead to a warped magical core, which will invariably lead to insanity. Even moments of exposure can do damage, which is why you're still so tired and hungry.~

Harry shivered. ~And you regularly used this spell to torture your followers? Isn't that counter-productive? I would think you'd want them sane and magically powerful.~

~Not regularly,~ Tom protested. ~Just when they failed me in something I couldn't forgive them for.~ He stopped, then, and Harry felt a slight twinge of guilt coming from the Dark Lord. ~Perhaps I used the spell on them more often than I should have, in those last days.~ Then Harry could practically feel the Dark Lord shaking off his guilt and Tom said insistently, ~Now, eat. And then we'll figure out what on Earth we're going to do with ourselves over the summer.~

Harry opened his mouth to respond, only for Tom to snarl, ~Eat, Merlin take you!~ and so Harry began to concentrate solely on his food. It was delicious, anyway, and probably deserved his entire concentration.

ooOOooOOoo

After food, and another short nap that Harry couldn't seem to stop himself from taking, Harry settled into a meditative position on the bed, closed his eyes, and took a step back into his mind. He followed the somewhat familiar path to Tom's mental office, then asked the Dark Lord, "So, what do you think we should do with the rest of the summer?"

Tom, for once, was not at his desk. He was instead settled on his very comfortable couch, on his back, hands threaded together under his head. He yawned and said softly, "I don't really know."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You were so desperate to talk about this last night, and now you tell me that you don't actually have any idea about what we should be doing over the summer?" he asked, just for clarification's sake.

"I sort of like your idea of going on a holiday. A proper one, that is. I've been around for a very long time, but I don't know that I've ever had an actual vacation where I could go and do what I want. I don't want that for you and I fear the time is coming when that won't be an option." Tom closed his eyes and shrugged, awkwardly since he wasn't moving from his position.

Harry settled on the floor, his back resting against the front of the couch, and leaned his head back so that it brushed Tom's side. "But where would I go on vacation?" he asked, uncertain.

"The ocean. India. Japan. France. There are so many different places to go, Harry, and life is so very short. You could go anywhere. Do anything." Tom sat up, suddenly, dislodging Harry's head. Harry blinked, and the Dark Lord was kneeling before him, a bright and suddenly eager expression on his face. "I've got it; we could visit other schools! You could transfer out of Hogwarts, stay out of England until this whole war nonsense dies down a bit. My other self has his body back, we don't really need to be here for anything else, right?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. Tom's own red eyes were so bright, so hopeful. It didn't fit the Dark Lord at all. "What do you know that you aren't telling me?" Harry asked warily.

"What do you mean?" Tom smiled at him, innocent and unassuming. It looked like a smile on a shark; it didn't fit the man at all.

And Harry didn't buy it for a minute. "You want me to get out of England. There must be a reason; all I'm asking is why you want me to get out of England so suddenly, that's all," Harry said reasonably.

"I just..." Tom shook his head and settled back to sit on the floor himself. "Harry, you're so young. And you're so perfectly placed to be used against the headmaster. I just don't want you to be getting into this mess over your head, that's all. And I think that if you stay in England, eventually my other self is going to come looking for you to join his side."

"I thought that's what we wanted," Harry pointed out.

"That is what we want! We just... maybe we should wait until you're a bit older before going after it?" Tom asked rather weakly.

Harry closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the couch once more, and considered what Tom was saying. After a few moments of silence Harry finally said softly, "Do you really think that either the other you or Dumbledore will really be willing to let me go?" He opened his eyes, then, and lifted his head to stare into Tom's.

Tom visibly deflated. "No," he said rather dully. "No, I don't think they will. It's just that... Harry, you deserve a chance to be a child. To... to laugh and play and yes, join the Quidditch team, and go on terrible dates, and all that other childish stuff that I never really had a chance to do. And if you stick around here..." Tom shook his head.

"If I stick around here?" Harry prompted. When Tom didn't answer, Harry let out a soft sigh. "Tom, I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but I'm living with a sixty-some year old spirit inside my head. I don't think I'll ever be able to 'laugh and play' like a normal child would. You'd be bored stiff."

Tom exploded into motion, then, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth across the length of the room. "It shouldn't be about me! You don't understand and I don't know how to make you!" he ground out. "I'm... I'm a parasite, attached to your mind. You understand this, don't you? I make things so very dangerous for you! You could be killed for having me in your mind!"

Harry stood, stepped into Tom's path, and said rather calmly, "I think we've got more of a symbiotic relationship than a parasitic one, personally."

Tom froze, lest he knock the child over. "Harry," Tom began.

Harry cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. "I don't know where this is coming from, Tom, but I do know this. You've done so much for me in the past few years. Yes, this isn't the way my life probably would have gone had you not been here. But who can say it's more dangerous this way? Not I, for certain. I probably would have wound up in Gryffindor. Your other self would have most likely been trying to kill me as Quirrell, and who knows, maybe I would have gone up against him to protect the Stone. Maybe I would have died in my first year. Maybe my Uncle would have snapped and killed me before I could even make it to my first year. We'll never know. But you're here with me, now, and I'm grateful for that."

Tom deflated entirely, sagging to his knees with such an expression of defeat on his face that Harry's heart almost burst. "You... you really mean that," the once-Dark Lord said rather dully, as though he couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.

"Of course I do." Harry patted him on the shoulder, would have hugged him if he'd thought for a minute the spirit would tolerate it, then backed off a few steps. "I figure that I'll go and talk to the goblins about my accounts, and then maybe we'll plan out a nice holiday. You need a break, apparently. You're getting quite unstable in your old age," he said with a quirk of his lips.

Tom looked up with the beginnings of a smile on his face, but Harry was already gone.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was already almost to Gringotts when Tom finally spoke up again. ~You don't quite understand, Harry,~ Tom said.

~Oh?~ Harry asked, one eyebrow raising before he regained complete control of his expression. ~Please, Tom, explain it to me then,~ Harry invited.

~I think you're right. As my emotions start to have more of an effect on you, I believe that yours will start to do the same to me. That I'm destabilizing is... well, it isn't exactly what I would consider to be a good sign. It could mean that our merging is speeding up.~

~Well slow it down!~ Harry snapped, and then felt guilty. This wasn't Tom's fault, after all. ~I don't... I mean...~ Harry's steps faltered, and he drew to a halt just outside the bank. ~I don't want to lose you, Tom,~ he finally said, his voice small.

~I know, Harry,~ Tom murmured. ~And I don't know when you will. But I think that when you finally do, we'll both be more prepared for it to happen. We'll just have to wait and see.~ Harry felt that ghostly sensation of Tom hugging him once more, and savored it for the entire minute that it lasted. ~Now, go into the bank, and speak to your Account Manager. You're attracting attention just standing around out here.~

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped into the bank. There was a long line at the teller's desk, but Harry stepped into it and waited quite patiently until he was called to the next available teller. It didn't take all that long, considering there had been about ten wizards and witches ahead of him.

When he reached the front of the line he presented his key, which Hagrid had turned over to him after they'd visited his vault in the first place, and said politely, "I was wondering if there was any way that I could get a statement of my holdings?"

The teller stared at him blankly for a moment, then took the key and studied it. "One moment," he said. He hopped down from his stool and walked off rather speedily for a being with such short legs, leaving Harry to stand and wait. It was only a matter of moments before the goblin returned and said flatly, "Mr. Potter, Ragnok will see you."

His key was returned to him, and when Harry turned, there was another goblin waiting to lead him to wherever it was he was meant to go. ~Who's Ragnok?~ he asked Tom as they walked.

He could almost feel Tom's shrug. ~Your Account Manager, maybe? I'm not certain. The name seems to ring a bell, anyway.~

Harry let out an almost soundless huff of air. ~Some help you are,~ he sent to Tom, but made sure that his amusement bled into his voice. And then they were at the start of a long, dark hallway lit only by torches, and the goblin led him down to the very end of it, to an office with an open door. "Thank you," Harry offered, and the goblin simply bowed in response before turning and stalking off. Harry stepped hesitantly into the room and said, "Mr. Ragnok?" curiously.

"Do sit down, Mr. Potter," was the immediate response. "You wished for an accounting of your vaults, after all, and that could take some time." The goblin in question was an older one, with sharp eyes and a sharper smile.

The goblin's desk was covered in papers and Harry, feeling quite guilty for interrupting this goblin's obviously busy day, said, "I was actually just looking for a paper statement? You know, like Muggle banks give out. I certainly don't want to interrupt your work."

Ragnok chuckled. "How refreshing to deal with one so naive in our ways, Mr. Potter. Please, sit," the goblin invited once more.

Harry did so, knowing it would be rude to do anything but. "Thank you, sir," he said, and ducked his head shyly.

"Now, as to interrupting my work, child, you may not understand this, but the Potter accounts are a little over one third of my total work. I am the Accounting Manager for the Potter family, the Black family, and the Malfoy family; three of the oldest lines in wizarding history. With the Black family fortune frozen due to the unfortunate business of the Lord being imprisoned, your family's accounts amount to just above one half of my current workload. Trust me, Mr. Potter, I have nothing but time for you."

By the time he finished speaking, the goblin was smiling a very vicious smile indeed, his pointy little teeth gleaming in the torchlight. Harry was a little awed, a little respectful, and a lot frightened. Just what had he gotten into, coming for an accounting of his vaults?

~Don't worry, Harry, I'll be here to talk you through it all,~ Tom murmured. ~Although, I confess, I always used Narcissa to manage my own finances,~ he added, just as Harry started to relax.

~Bloody hell, Tom,~ Harry complained, and then his attention was taken up by numbers and accounts and a whole lot of information he couldn't begin to process.

ooOOooOOoo

By the time Harry left Gringotts, his head was spinning. There were so many numbers and rules and regulations and laws and... just way too much information running through his mind.

He stopped at Flourish and Blotts to pick up a few books on wizarding finances, and grabbed a few more beginner's healing texts as well as a few potions quarterlies and a fascinating book on the history of Light and Dark magic for light reading while he was in there, and then headed back to The Leaky Cauldron.

Once they were alone, Harry said to Tom, "So I guess we can go on that holiday, right?"

Tom laughed, and if the sound had a slightly hysterical edge to it, well, Harry wouldn't tell anybody. ~Yes, Harry, I think we can go on that holiday. Do you think you'd like to single-handedly fund the Dark side of the war, by the way?~

Harry laughed aloud. ~You heard Ragnok; my family money is only a third of the work that he does. You should be asking the Malfoy family the very same question!~

~Oh, Lucius already funds the vast majority of the expenditures for the Death Eaters,~ Tom said cheerfully.

~Out of curiosity,~ Harry began, as the thought occurred to him, ~Just what sorts of expenses does an illegal army of Dark terrorists incur, anyway? It isn't as though you go about building bombs and nuclear weapons and the like, right?~

~Ahh, no, but we do use potions. So very many potions. And experimental magic isn't without its expenses, you know. Why, in the last war the Death Eaters gave enough money to St. Mungo's to practically fund an entire new ward.~

Harry laughed quietly, having never thought of that. ~So would you have it named the Death Eater Ward, or the Voldemort Ward? Or maybe, the Riddle Ward?~

Harry could almost feel Tom wrinkling his nose. ~I wouldn't have named it any of the above,~ he said haughtily. ~I was thinking maybe the Ward of the New Order, or something along those lines. A bit pretentious, no?~

Harry couldn't help the snort that emerged from his lips at that. ~A bit pretentious, yes,~ Harry said, manfully choking down the rest of the laughter that was trying to escape. And then he sobered. ~But onto a slightly more serious topic, what should we do with ourselves for this summer? That doesn't involve running away from the entire war, that is.~

Just as Tom was about to respond, there was a low chime that sounded throughout the room. A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. "An owl for you, Mr. Potter," Tom the barkeep said with a short, sharp bow. There was an entirely unremarkable brown owl seated on the crook of his arm, staring right at Harry.

"Thank you, Tom," Harry said sincerely, and made sure to tip the man a sickle for his trouble. It wasn't as though he was hurting for money, after all. And good tips ensured good service. Tom had made absolutely certain that was drilled into Harry's mind long before he'd arrived at the Leaky Cauldron only last night. Even when he was at his worst, apparently Voldemort had been a good tipper. Who knew?

~Who do you suppose is sending us a letter this early in the summer?~ Harry asked, even as he settled the owl on a perch and stared at the simple looking envelope with only his name and no return address. Minerva chirruped at the owl and sniffed at it and Harry said absently, "If she claws your eyes out it's on you love," and the cat backed down.

~I'm not certain. There are, after all, so very many possibilities. My money would be either on Dumbledore or, well, myself to be honest. I would think that either Draco or Ron would have included a bit more information on the envelope than just your name.~

Harry nodded once, shortly, and opened the letter. He studied it thoughtfully. The letter itself was written on a very fine parchment, from the Malfoy family's personal stock he'd imagined, with dark green ink that looked to have flecks of silver inside. There was surely only one person this could be from, and Harry asked that person's spirit rather curiously, ~Is the silver real?~

Tom snorted. ~Of course it's real. As though I would ever use anything less than the absolute best.~

~Snob,~ Harry accused fondly. And then he settled in to actually read the letter in question.

_Harry Potter,_

_By now, if what you claimed when last we met is indeed accurate, you know precisely who I am. As such, I will not bother introducing myself to you at this time. Owl-post is terribly insecure, after all. It would be a disaster were this letter to fall into the wrong hands._

_I'm sure that you can understand my reluctance to state anything damning in written form, so for now all that I shall send you is an invitation. If you are willing to accept, all you need do is be holding this letter at eleven o'clock in the morning tomorrow, and you shall be brought to see me at an undisclosed, secure location. If you are not willing to do this, then I shall be forced to assume that your assertions during our previous conversation were lies, and that you are in fact a traitor to our cause. Measures will then be taken, Mr. Potter, and I don't think that you will approve of them._

_I hope to see you tomorrow._

And then the letter ended. Harry stared at it in disbelieving silence for only a moment before he said to Tom, ~You really were a melodramatic bastard before my six year old self got ahold of you, weren't you?~

~Harry, my name was 'flight from death', and my followers were called Death Eaters. I delighted in the fact that people feared me enough to not even call me by my pseudonym.~ Tom paused for a moment, as though to let those facts sink in, then asked rather calmly, ~Do you really have to ask if I was melodramatic?~

Harry laughed, so hard that he wound up on his side, cackling madly. ~So I take it that we're going, then?~ Harry asked.

~I don't see where we have a choice. If we choose to blow this meeting off, he'll never give us another chance. If we want... If you want to be on his side, Harry, this is your only option.~

Harry closed his eyes, all the laughter leaving him. It was time for a serious decision. But then, he'd already chosen his side, hadn't he? He had allowed Voldemort to leave the chamber with the Sorcerer's Stone. He conversed with the piece of Tom's soul in his head. He allowed Tom to cast Dark magic through his body. Not, of course, that there was really anything much he could do to stop that. He didn't want to stop him. Soon enough he'd be learning Dark magic of his own.

~I suppose we're visiting the Dark Lord tomorrow, then,~ Harry said quietly. ~Which means we can't make plans until he decides what he's doing with us for the summer.~

Harry could feel Tom's excitement and joy running through his mind, and Harry couldn't stop the soft smile. Tom had done so much for him; it was nice to feel him so excited about something.

ooOOooOOoo

When Ron came down to breakfast the morning after arriving home, he knew that he was in for a talking to. Nobody was at the table but his Mum and Dad, and they were both looking fairly grim. "Eat your breakfast, Ron," Mum said quietly.

Ron bit his lip. "I'd really rather we just get this over with," he said politely. "I don't know that I can eat with this hanging over my head."

"You're still consorting with the Malfoy boy," Mum said, still with that even tone to her voice. "Your father and I wrote you several times about that. Did you not get the letters? Errol certainly never returned any of them to us."

"I got them," Ron said. "I even read them. I've still got the first that you sent me. I just choose to respectfully disagree with you regarding Draco."

Mum hissed. Dad laid a soothing hand on her arm and said gently, "Ron, son, I know that you've got a good heart, we've raised you that way. But there's no redeeming any of the Malfoys. They're so steeped in the Dark that it wouldn't surprise me to learn that they bled black."

Ron shook his head once, sharply. "You don't know him. You won't even give him a chance," he said quietly. "You should have seen the Christmas present he bought me. Based on that, based on the rules of Giving, he's taking this friendship as seriously as I am, if not more so. We could finally end this blood feud, and without either of our family lines being wiped out! In this day, when pureblooded wizards-"

"Where did you ever learn to talk about pureblooded wizards?" Mum shrieked. "It doesn't matter how pure one's blood is, as though that's even an important notion! And where did you learn the rules of Giving, anyway?"

"I'm in Slytherin," Ron pointed out. "I'm rooming with both Draco and Blaise Zabini. Both are very traditional purebloods. Trust me, I've learned some of the rules. I made it a point to borrow Harry's etiquette book after we were Sorted." Of course, Harry hadn't known he'd borrowed his etiquette book, but he didn't think Harry would mind much if he had known. Ron had just... he wanted to not mess up this chance he'd been given. It was an opportunity that none of his brothers had, to try and make the connections that they... well, that they deserved as purebloods.

"You read... you read an etiquette book?" Dad asked, horrified. Ron didn't get it; it wasn't as though he were out there studying Dark magic or anything like that. "Oh, Ron, we never wanted that for you! You were never supposed to learn all of that pureblooded nonsense! You should know that blood doesn't matter to us, son, it never has. The Muggles are-"

"Are perverting our traditions?" Ron asked quietly. "Are bloodthirsty monsters that would kill us if they had a chance? Why yes, I kind of agree." The moment he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Of course all Muggles wouldn't want to kill them, but he'd learned a bit about Muggle wars among the Slytherins. Bennet's father studied them, and he said that they killed each other just for being a little different. Not even for being of different blood, like You-Know-Who had practiced, but just for differences in opinion. How weird was that? And every witch and wizard knew about the Salem Witch Trials, and how dangerous they'd had the potential to be. Not that they'd ever killed a real witch or wizard, but still. Of course, part of Bennet's stories were most likely that he wanted to scare the first years, but still. They couldn't all be made up.

"Go to your room, son," Dad said quietly. "We'll discuss this later, when you're more willing to be rational."

Ron nodded once and stood. He left the room, and when he realized once he'd closed the door to his own room that he hadn't eaten, well, he wasn't hungry anyway. It seemed that this was going to cause more strife with his family than he'd thought. Maybe letting the hat Sort him to Slytherin had been a very bad idea, after all.

* * *

**A/N: As always, thank you all so much for the reviews and follows! You all really make me want to keep going with this story whenever I'm ready to throw a chair through the window, so thanks so much! Hochexplosiv, you posited an interesting theory. If you had PMing enabled, I'd respond to it! As you don't, I'll just say that isn't quite what happened.**

**But anyway, again, thank you all for the reviews! You warm the very cockles of my soul! Let me know what you all thought!**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twelve

Harry didn't do much before Voldemort's portkey was scheduled to be active. He supposed he could have gone out and thrown around his newfound wealth, but honestly he didn't see the point. He'd known he'd had money before, he just hadn't had a clue exactly how much money he'd stood to inherit. Knowing was a bit intoxicating, so he probably shouldn't be making any big purchases until the thrill of it all died down.

Although, he had made the decision that if he got onto the Quidditch team he'd be buying himself one of the shiny new Nimbus 2001s that he'd stared longingly at in the Quality Quidditch Supplies store when Tom had insisted he go out last night and try the ice cream parlor. It had seemed an odd thing for Tom to suggest, but Harry had done it for that reason. Tom insisted that it was some sort of tradition and Harry had done so, and enjoyed himself immensely. But then, what almost-twelve-year-old didn't like spending money on ice cream? Or broomsticks, for that matter.

~You know, you could go and get another one before the portkey activates. We've got time,~ Tom suggested silkily.

~Another broomstick?~ Harry asked, eyebrows raising. ~Because I was under the impression that you didn't actually want me to play Quidditch, even if you did ever so gracefully concede to allow me to play.~

~Harry, try not to be more foolish than you can help,~ Tom sighed. ~I was speaking of ice cream.~

Harry frowned. It was ten fifty-three in the morning and the portkey was scheduled to go off at eleven o'clock. Knowing Tom the way that he did, and suspecting that Voldemort was much worse than Tom with some things considering that he hadn't been living inside a child for so long, Harry could imagine that Voldemort would be more than punctual with the activation of the portkey. ~We do not have time!~ he objected.

~Of course we do! Just think of that tasty sundae you had yesterday, you could be having a different one today! One that's just as tasty, even!~ Tom suggested brightly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. ~You just want me to vanish in a public place and freak the general population out,~ he accused.

Tom snickered and said, ~Guilty as charged.~ And then he could almost feel Tom frowning as the Dark Lord said, ~You know, you were a lot more fun when it was easier to trick you into doing ridiculous things. Such as, oh, say, Apparating onto a roof to escape your cousin?~

Harry flushed. ~You're an ass,~ he muttered. ~Although... no, nevermind. I'd just sort of forgotten that I could Apparate. It would probably be a bad idea to do it now, though, wouldn't it?~

~Yes, Harry, it would. I know how tempting it is to go pop over and see Draco, or Ron, or one of the other Slytherins in your year, but you absolutely cannot be caught Apparating by, well, anybody. If the _sectumsempra_ I cast on the troll was too suspicious, that would just be another nail in our coffin.~ And then, in a disapproving tone that he hadn't heard for quite some time, Tom added, ~And Apparating is for emergencies only, Mr. Potter.~

Harry sighed. ~I know, I know. You know, I kind of wish you hadn't taught me how to do it. I really wanted to use it to visit Diagon Alley last summer, too, but I knew you wouldn't let me.~

~You couldn't be seen out in the wizarding world before the Headmaster introduced you to it. It would have been a dead giveaway that something was wrong. Even more so than my killing your uncle. And especially after I killed your uncle. And after, alone, would have implied that you and your Aunt Petunia weren't getting along.~ Tom's voice took on the exact same stern tone that he'd used last year when Harry had tried to talk him into letting him visit Diagon Alley a week before he was scheduled to get his Hogwarts letter.

Harry was about to open his mouth, to protest that he wasn't a child and didn't need to be treated like one anymore, thank you very much, when there was a sudden hooking sensation just below his belly button and the world blurred around him.

Of course he would hate portkeys. Of course. After all, he despised Apparating with everything in him because he disliked the feeling of being fed through a straw. Who knew that some people might find that unpleasant? And Tom had assured him that Floo travel was equally unpleasant.

Harry swore that if he ever had any free time, he would develop a much less painful way for wizards to travel that didn't take half so long as riding on a broomstick.

ooOOooOOoo

Arriving was particularly terrible because Harry was pretty sure that it looked awful for him to land on his knees, retching miserably at the Dark Lord's feet. All he saw was the marble floor before him, laced with what maybe looked like real gold, and then he was throwing up, unable to stop himself. It took several minutes for him to stop heaving, and Harry was suddenly very grateful that he hadn't been able to bring himself to eat lunch. That had been humiliating and messy enough as it was.

"First time with a portkey?" the Dark Lord asked, and oh thank Merlin he sounded amused.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," Harry whispered, and didn't move from his position on the floor. He hadn't been given leave to move yet, and he really didn't want to do anything to invite another bout of the Cruciatus Curse. He was mostly recovered from the last one, yes, but it was still something he never wanted to go through again.

"It's fine. Dobby will clean it up. Dobby!" the Dark Lord barked, and there was a popping sound that Harry recognized as belonging to a house elf. He'd never seen one, he wanted to look up so badly, but sheer willpower kept his head down. He was certain that he'd have the opportunity to see many house elves before too long. "Dobby, clean up this mess. And see to it that Mr. Potter is brought some refreshments."

"Yes, your lordship," came the elf's squeaky voice. Harry heard another popping sound and he presumed the elf had left the room.

There was a moment of silence, and then, "Oh, do get up, child. You look ridiculous like that. If you really are what you claim to be, and at this point I see no reason to doubt it, I won't have you kneeling before me like some common follower."

Harry's eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn't stop to argue. He was on his feet and looking the Dark Lord square in the eye within moments. To his surprise, he found himself looking at Tom, not whatever that thing on the back of Quirrell's head had been. He couldn't help but be a bit relieved, because the face on the back of Quirrell's head had been truly hideous and this version of the Dark Lord was certainly much easier to look at. And Harry was ashamed to admit that he was young enough for that to matter.

Voldemort caught the surprise. "You weren't expecting me to look so much like I'd imagine the spirit within you appears?" he guessed.

Harry flushed. "Sorry, sir," he muttered, and looked back down and away. Then winced at the sight of his own sickness on the floor.

"Come, let's move away from the Malfoy's entry parlor," Voldemort suggested. "You and I have much to discuss, child, regarding your claims." Voldemort gestured, and at Tom's rather unnecessary prompting, Harry followed. What, like he was going to make the Dark Lord wait?

They travelled through several winding halls, making so many turns that it could have made Harry dizzy had the Tom in his head not known exactly where they were going as well. Eventually, Harry found himself in small, cozy room with warm brown wooden walls and plush red carpeting. There was a fireplace, currently unlit, and two very comfortable looking chairs before it. It was terribly informal and Harry had the vague idea from Tom that this was actually the Dark Lord's personal sitting room within Malfoy Manor.

~That's because it is,~ Tom said, and there was no mistaking the nostalgia in his voice. ~Severus and I shared these quarters for several years during the war. Those were the best years of my life,~ Tom confessed. ~The door to our bedroom is just over there,~ Tom added. Harry could see the door in question, set on the far side of the room in a corner.

~I'm sorry,~ Harry whispered. He didn't know what else there was to say to that. Especially not when he could feel Tom's grief, now, something he hadn't been able to do before.

Voldemort cleared his throat, and Harry returned his attention to the Dark Lord. "Take a seat, Mr. Potter, and tell my other self to not distract you while you're in my presence."

Harry didn't ask how he knew, simply nodded once and said simply, "I think he knows, sir."

"Good. Now, tell me about your interactions with the piece of soul inside of you. I assume that he is conscious, that he can speak and actively perform things on your behalf?" Voldemort was watching him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for a response before he'd even finished the question. So very like Tom, and yet so very different at the same time.

"He speaks to me all the time, whether I want him to or not. He can take over my body if I take a step back, but he either can't or won't force me out of control. I think..." Harry stopped, wondering how to phrase this in way that didn't alarm the Dark Lord. Eventually he settled on, "I think that I gained access to a portion of your magic when his soul joined with mine; I'm very powerful for eleven years old."

Voldemort's breath left him in a soft huff of displeasure. "I can't say that I'm happy to hear that you've gained some of my magic. Still, better to you than into the ether, I suppose," he murmured. "Could I talk to him? My other self, that is."

Harry frowned, and took a step back. Tom was there and waiting, and took over Harry's body quite eagerly. "I think you'll find that my years as a passenger of Harry's have changed me quite a bit. I'm not the same as I was when I was sealed inside of him," were Tom's first words once he'd gained control of Harry's mouth.

Voldemort's lips quirked into a smile. "No, I would have been very surprised to hear anything but that very thing from you." There was a pause when they were interrupted by another pop.

Harry's first glimpse of a house elf was rather... disappointing to say the least. They looked like nothing so much as tiny, fragile little children. Well, if children were brown and had huge eyes and huge ears and were slightly too skinny to be healthy. Harry had, quite honestly, been expecting something a little bit more fairy like.

~You'll live,~ Tom said quietly. The house elf dropped off a tray of refreshments, but Tom didn't take anything.

"Are you not hungry after the boy threw up the contents of his stomach?" Voldemort asked.

"I'll leave him to eat," Tom said quietly. "You must have wanted something from me to call me out here like this." Harry could hear the impatience in his voice and wondered what had Tom so testy. Well, other than the fact that there was another version of him out there that would actually get to live rather than be chained to a pathetic eleven year old.

Despite his words, Tom did prepare tea the way that both he and Harry enjoyed it, and took a small sip. Harry was relieved as it meant that he wouldn't be coming back to that awful taste in his mouth.

Voldemort frowned. Even though Harry wasn't in control of his body, he flinched in preparation for some sort of pain. Nothing happened, however, and Voldemort was saying, "Prove to me that the child isn't simply playing some maddening hoax on me. Tell me something about myself that only I know," the Dark Lord commanded, rather abruptly.

Harry didn't like the tone of voice that he used. It was haughty, it was commanding, it was a voice that promised pain and retribution should the addressee fail at their task, whatever that task may be. It was a voice that assumed failure was imminent. If he'd been out, he would have made sure that the Dark Lord knew of his offense. So it was probably a good thing that Tom was the one dealing with him now, because Tom wouldn't get them cursed.

Tom seemed entirely unaffected by the tone of voice. "We first slept with Severus when he was only fifteen. It was far too young for us to be involved, but there you go. We also learned _sectumsempra_ from him. Oh, and yes, we're half-bloods." He said the litany with a cheery little smile that Harry imagined looked rather impertinent on his face. Oh, he hoped they weren't cursed for that.

Voldemort hissed. "Of course you would choose some of the most embarrassing facts..." He shook his head once, sharply. "Very well, then, I'm convinced. Go and let the boy eat, then."

Once Harry was back in control of his body and sipping at tea while nibbling at the finger sandwiches the elf had provided, Voldemort asked, "Do you think that you'll be able to visit here during the summer more than just this once? I'd like to get to know the child carrying a piece of my soul."

Harry smiled. What did you know? An answer to all of his summer problems and a chance to endear himself to the Dark Lord, all in one pretty little package. "Actually, sir, if you'd like I could spend my entire summer here." When Voldemort's eyebrows rose in surprise, Harry continued with, "You see, sir, it's like this. Tom, the version of you inside of me, murdered my uncle just before I went to Hogwarts. When I went to return to my Aunt's house, she was gone and had left no forwarding address. So I have nobody to miss me the entire summer, so far as I know."

Voldemort smiled, the same shark-like one that Harry was used to seeing on Tom. It made Harry feel a little bit more at ease around the Dark Lord, though he doubted that was the intent. "I think that we can work something out then, child," the Dark Lord practically purred.

Harry's smile widened. Spending the summer at Malfoy Manor? Getting to spend it with a friend for the first time in, well, ever? Oh, yeah, that could work. In the end it was a simple matter of Flooing back to the Leaky Cauldron, telling Tom that he was checking out, and then Flooing back. Voldemort sent an elf to pack his things.

By the time Harry was being shown his room, apparently right next to Draco's in the family wing, his belongings were already there. Harry flopped down on his bed, a lovely shade of sky blue that made Harry just smile, and thought about how awesome this summer had the potential to be.

Harry thought it was probably going to be the best of his life, not that it was a difficult thing to do considering what his past summers had consisted of. And then, worn out from the excitement that he hadn't even realized he was feeling, Harry was drifting off to sleep for a nap.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry woke that evening, it was to the somewhat disturbing sight of Draco sitting there, in his room, watching him sleep. That was more than enough to startle him all the way into wakefulness and he scowled rather reproachfully at the slender blond. "You couldn't wait until I came to find you?" he asked, one eyebrow raising.

Draco flushed. "It didn't occur to me how creepy this looked until you were already starting to wake up," he said quietly. He ducked his head and looked way as he added, "And by then it was too late. You were already opening his eyes. But I wasn't watching you sleep, honest, I was reading!" Draco held up a book on potions-making as proof that he hadn't actually been watching Harry sleep.

~Okay, I'm sorry, but he's just adorable,~ Tom crooned.

Harry blinked, then frowned. ~First of all, creepy tone. Seriously, I've never heard you coo about anything, and I don't think that I care for it. Second of all, what do you mean 'adorable'?~

~I'll tell you when you're older,~ Tom said, and snickered as he did it.

Harry's frown deepened, but he chose to simply ignore the spirit within him. If he was going to be difficult, and cryptic for no reason, well, Harry didn't have to listen to that nonsense. "So did you want something, or were you just visiting?" Harry asked Draco.

"You're staying with us for the summer?" Draco asked in answer to Harry's question. "I heard Mother and Father discussing the matter."

"Yeah, I'm staying here for the rest of the summer. My Aunt and I had a... falling out last summer, so I'll be here with you guys." Harry frowned, because he'd just realized that he was pretty sure he'd never mentioned the incident with his Uncle to Draco. Maybe... maybe talking about that would get Draco to open up about what he and Tom suspected. It couldn't hurt.

"What sort of falling out do you have with your family that makes them not want to take you in for the summer?" Draco asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

Harry shrugged. "The kind where the murderous and overprotective spirit within you casts a wandless Killing Curse on your Uncle," he said casually, as though it wasn't a big deal. To be honest, it really wasn't. Harry was so far past over it that it didn't even register with him as a bad thing for Tom to have done. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that it had been a good thing, even if he hadn't really been ready to acknowledge it at the time. Thinking about it now, Harry could acknowledge that there was probably a small problem with that.

Draco froze. "You... you... what?" he finally squeaked out.

Harry grinned at him, he couldn't help it. "My Uncle pulled a shotgun on me when I got my Hogwarts letter. Of course what happened leading up to that is a very long, complicated story, but that's the basic gist of it. In the end, Tom killed him for pulling the shotgun. Said that we couldn't trust him not to try again even if we could have disarmed him. And there wasn't really any way for me to Apparate to safety." He shrugged and added, "Hence, the killing."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You're too young to learn how to Apparate," he protested.

Of all the things he could have protested about, of course he would have chosen that. Draco certainly wasn't the type to protest the murder of a Muggle. ~Tom?~ Harry offered, and took a step back. ~Why don't you go ahead and explain this to him?~

~If you insist, child,~ Tom grumbled. But Harry knew that he was always pleased to gain control of Harry's body. Harry didn't let him out all that often just to talk. So he knew that Tom would enjoy this, especially since he actually did like Draco quite a lot. "In answer to your question, child, you aren't technically too young to Apparate."

Draco had gone white, now, and he slipped from his chair and shakily down to one knee. "My Lord," Draco whispered, and bowed his head.

"Oh, now, don't do that," Tom complained. He stood and knelt in front of Draco. "Seriously, kid, you're my host body's best friend. Don't bow to me. Harry wouldn't approve. He doesn't approve. He's yelling at me in our head." Harry was of course doing no such thing, but that didn't stop Tom from using it as an excuse. The truth of the matter never stopped Tom from doing exactly what was needed to get the results he wanted.

"I... yes, my Lord," Draco whispered. He still looked half-terrified, but he settled himself back in the chair by Harry's bed and Tom chose to settle, cross-legged, on Harry's bed. Harry knew that the only reason that Draco wasn't protesting was the fact that it was even more insane to argue with the Dark Lord than it was to fail him.

"You look petrified. Relax, I'm not going to curse you," Tom said easily. "I found that once I was stuck inside a six-year-old's mind for the entirety of their development thereafter, I mellowed quite a lot. Which is, of course, not to say that my other self, the self currently wandering your manor freely, is any less deadly than ever he was. We were. Whatever," Tom said with a shrug and a careless wave of his hand.

Harry was many things, but he wasn't stupid. ~Are you... are you playing the somewhat fool to make Draco feel more at ease with you?~ he asked, both amused and curious by Tom's very obviously affected attitude.

~It's important for later that he be comfortable with us,~ was Tom's only response. Harry didn't fail to notice that Tom didn't actually deny that he was acting just to influence Draco's emotions. "So, you asked us a question about Apparition yes?" Tom asked brightly.

"Yes, sir," Draco whispered. He still wasn't quite meeting Tom's eyes, and Harry couldn't blame him. It must be disconcerting to see your friend with a suddenly drastically different eye color. He knew that if it had been him, and Draco's eyes had suddenly changed, Harry would have been more than a little unnerved.

"It really isn't that difficult for the concept of developing power to be understood, I think Harry just wanted to introduce us in a situation that wasn't necessarily life or death." Tom was smiling as he spoke. Harry was amazed; he'd never known that Tom could be so very charismatic. But it made sense; of course he could. How else would one rise through the ranks of the pureblooded elite?

"That's right. We met when you..." Draco took a deep breath, looked up, and met Tom's eyes. "We met when you destroyed that troll. It really was most impressive, sir."

"Thank you." Tom waited for a second, then said, "If you know that spell, Mr. Malfoy, don't try it. That was accomplished with sheer power and a desire not to annoy Harry by just throwing out a Killing Curse. The _sectumsempra_ curse is not intended to be used as a troll-killing tool," he said sternly, face now firmly set into a scowl.

"Of course not, sir," Draco said. He shook his head quickly and added, "My godfather invented that spell, so I know exactly how it's meant to be used. He would have killed me for trying it in the middle of Hogwarts, as well."

"Your godfather is more wise than you may ever know," Tom said. Harry caught a hint of his wistfulness and realized that Draco's godfather had to be Snape. He wondered how it was that he hadn't known that before? Oh, well, in the scheme of things he figured it probably wasn't that important anyway.

"You were going to explain about Harry knowing how to Apparate, even though the Ministry maintains that it isn't safe until a wizard reaches at least seventeen years of age?" Draco prompted, looking as though it took all of his nerve to do so.

"Ah, yes, that was the topic at hand, was it not? Well, I won't bore you with my knowledge regarding the subject, and I'll give Harry his body back just as soon as I inform you that the Ministry is correct in the most technical sense. For the vast majority of wizards it is unsafe to attempt Apparition before reaching age seventeen due to the limits of their young magical core. However, there are particular cases wherein those guidelines are not necessarily accurate. Harry is unique in that he has a rather massive magical core. His core at six was the size of most seventeen year olds. He will be, once his training is complete, the most powerful wizard of our era." And then Tom pulled back and shoved Harry back into place, leaving the child rather shell-shocked.

~You didn't... Tom, you didn't mention that,~ Harry managed to stumble out.

~Oh, it must have slipped my mind,~ Tom said airily.

"He... he never told me any of that," Harry offered weakly to Draco, in answer to the unasked question. "You would think I'd be used to him not telling me things that I should know," he added rather thoughtfully, "since he seems to only want to tell me things when it's convenient for him."

"I... Dark Lords are like that, I suppose," Draco offered. "I mean, Father mentioned several times how closely our Lord liked to keep his information. So..." Draco trailed off. "I'm sorry!" he burst out quite suddenly.

Harry's eyes widened. "For what?"

"For... I'm sorry, it's just so hard to look at you and know that there's a piece of another soul inside of you. That's... that's very Dark magic, Harry, if not Black magic entirely. Splitting one's soul is a dangerous thing; I'm surprised that our Lord attempted it." Draco was frowning and staring down at his hands which he was nervously wringing.

"Yeah, well, from what I understand, he wasn't exactly the height of rationality towards the end of it all," Harry said with a wicked grin. Tom protested vehemently within his mind, but Harry knew that he was right. Tom himself had told him so.

Draco's lips quirked into a grin. "Yes, well, that isn't our place as followers to judge," he said, the height of propriety. He relaxed a bit; Harry could see it in the way that his hands stopped moving and his posture softened. And then his little quirking of his lips turned into a full-blown grin and he said, "Would you like to come and see the Quidditch pitch that we've got on the grounds? We could have a few practice matches, you and I!"

Harry wasn't stupid. He could see that Draco wasn't entirely comfortable talking about the fact that Harry had a piece of another's soul inside of him, and he allowed the change in subject rather gracefully. Besides, Quidditch? Oh, yeah, he was all over that.

Despite Tom's grumbling in his head.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus read the letter with trembling hands.

He knew of only one man that would use the dark emerald ink flecked with silver. It was a special formula created specifically for the Dark Lord. Letters on that particular Malfoy family parchment with that particular style of ink were sent only to the most loyal of his followers. Never in history had the precise manner of communication been imitated. Which was not to say that imitation was impossible, merely to say that it was unlikely.

_My darling Severus_, it had read, _if you are not interested in returning to me, put this letter down at once. It shall burst into flames the moment it leaves your hand. Otherwise, as soon as you are finished reading the rest of this letter, you will be brought to me. There isn't anything else to say, really, I merely wished to give you time to make up your mind. There is only one sentence to follow this one. _There was, as the Dark Lord had said, only one sentence after that, and Severus had found himself quite unable to finish reading it.

Would his Lord, his lover, be the same as he'd always been? The possibility was there, certainly, but there was also the chance that Harry had wound up with the majority of Tom's soul rather than just a piece of it. And Severus couldn't bear the thought of returning to a shell of the man that had once been his reason for existence. But nor could he bear the thought of not knowing, of remaining alone for the rest of his life, for he knew that he would never move on from Tom. How could one move on from perfection?

It was decided then. He needed to know. He should... he should take a bag with him if he was going to his lover's side... his Lord's side once more. But as he looked around the cold, lonely hovel that was Spinner's End, he didn't see anything that he would need for the rest of the summer. And there was no doubt in his mind that he would be returning to Hogwarts for the school year next. He was in too valuable a position for Tom to change that, no matter how much he would want Severus safe.

And so, his hands trembling all the further at the thought of maybe being reunited with his everything, he read through the final sentence on the page. _Come home to me, my Severus,_ and felt the familiar pull of a portkey at his navel. He closed his eyes for the brief few moments of travel, and when he opened them once more it was to the feeling of familiar arms around him, holding him tightly.

"My Lord," Severus whispered, just before his mouth was taken in a rough kiss.

This was what he'd been missing for all these years. His Lord, his lover, his everything. As Tom pulled away from him, red eyes cloudy with need, a genuine smile touched Severus's lips for the first time in far too many years.

"Welcome home, Severus," Tom murmured. And then he was kissing Severus again, devouring him.

They celebrated for the rest of the evening.

**A/N: As always, guys and gals, thanks so much for taking the time to read and review. I love them all, even the critical ones! You all rock!**


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Thirteen

It was Harry's second night at Malfoy Manor when he finally saw it, and he saw red. ~Harry, don't do anything rash,~ Tom cautioned.

~How can you... how can you ask me not to?~ Harry snarled. His wand was clenched tightly in his hand, pointed at the tall, elegant blond man currently holding_ his_ Draco under the Cruciatus curse.

~Possessive much?~ Tom asked, then he added, ~If you hex Draco's father, he might never forgive you. You remember how angry you were for what I did to your Uncle, right?~

~That was different! Uncle Vernon never...~ Harry stopped. That wasn't true. He knew it wasn't true. Uncle Vernon had abused him when he was younger, and to deny that was to deny that Tom had saved him from so much when he was younger. So Harry closed his eyes, counted to ten in Latin, tried to calm down and not eviscerate Lucius on principle alone, but when he opened them he was still just as furious. ~I can't let this continue,~ he said flatly, and stepped into Lucius Malfoy's study.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Harry called.

Lucius turned to him, one pale eyebrow raised. "Mr. Potter. If you don't mind, I'm rather in the middle of something," he said with an expansive gesture towards his son.

"I see that. Stop." Harry took another step into the room, and couldn't help but point his wand at Lucius in a threatening manner. He could hear Tom protesting in the back of his mind dimly over the roaring of the blood in his ears. He was furious. He didn't care what the consequences were for this act. He couldn't stand back and let Draco be tortured like this.

"Stop?" Lucius asked, and casually cancelled the spell on his son. Draco lay there, whimpering and curled into a tiny little ball on the floor. "I'm only helping the boy, Mr. Potter. If you can't understand that, well, you should stay out of our business."

~Harry, you idiot, you need to let me take over. Now.~ Tom snarled. Harry could feel his panic, his irritation, making his blood sing all the more.

But Harry respectfully disagreed. ~No, actually, I need to do this myself. He should respect me for who I am, not what I carry inside of me.~

~You're eleven! You're not meant to be going toe to toe with a wizard like Lucius!~ Tom howled.

Harry ignored him. "Helping the boy? Really, sir? That's the argument that you're going with, that you're helping him by torturing him? If that's your definition of help, well, I'd hate to see what you think hurting him looks like." Harry crossed the room, then, and knelt by Draco's side. He placed a hesitant hand on Draco's back, only for the other to flinch away from the gentle touch.

"You have no right, Mr. Potter, to judge the way that I train my son," Lucius said. "And honestly, are you daft? Challenging a wizard of my calibre? I could eat you for breakfast and there's not a soul that would stop me."

Harry stood, one eyebrow raising in a deliberate mimicry of the way that Tom had once upon a time glared at his Uncle. It worked, because Lucius actually broke his gaze. "Do you know what I carry inside of me, Lucius?" he asked, voice whisper-soft.

"I've heard a rumor," Lucius confessed. He wouldn't look up, not even when Harry crossed the room and stood directly in front of him.

"And what does rumor say that I carry inside of me, Lucius?" Harry asked. He kept his voice as quiet, as patient as he could. Tom had fallen silent inside of him, his protests stilling the moment that Harry had begun using that tone. He hadn't realized that Harry had picked up on it, apparently.

Lucius gulped and his eyes darted towards Harry's for just a second before they were darting away once more. "The rumor is that you carry a piece of our Lord's soul within you."

"Do you believe what rumor is saying about me?" Harry asked casually. As though Lucius's answer didn't really matter, as though this entire conversation was just a game.

"I... I don't know. I can't see any other reason why the Dark Lord would have a Potter here in his stronghold." Lucius still wouldn't look up.

His fear felt good, Harry realized. He could understand why, in the past, Tom had worked so very hard to develop a terrifying reputation. It was intoxicating, and he smiled gently at Lucius. "They are correct," he murmured. "And Lucius, could you tell me what our Lord has always said about torturing children?"

"Our Lord has no hand in the way that I raise my son! He was dead!" Lucius snarled, face jerking up to glare at Harry. His wand came up, too, and pointed directly between Harry's eyes.

Harry reached out and pressed one hand on said wand, forcing it down. "Don't point that stick at me, Lucius, or I'll snap it in two. And obviously our Lord was not dead, as he's returned. Have you ever known any being to return from the dead? No? I hadn't thought so." Harry shook his head in gentle reproach. "Now that he has returned to us, don't you think that maybe you should be following all of his edicts, rather than the ones that suit you?"

"You insolent little brat," Lucius breathed out. His wand snapped up once more, and snapped out a vicious, "_Crucio!_"

Harry jerked to one side and the spell swept harmlessly past him to impact with a vase on the wall. It shattered, and Harry lunged forward and jerked the wand from Lucius's hand. Really, did wizards have no grip? "I did warn you," Harry said calmly, and snapped the wand over his knee. There was a flash of power, a sense of magic and life leaving the wand, and Harry was suddenly holding a simple broken in half twig.

~Harry,~ Tom whispered, but said no more. Harry could feel his shock, his amusement, his horror, and it made him smile. It wasn't often he managed to surprise the spirit within him.

"So, any questions?" Harry asked lightly. He turned his back on Lucius, then, and went back to Draco, who had fainted at some point after the spell had been released. He murmured a simple, "_Mobilicorpus_," and Draco's body rose from the ground.

"Don't think for a moment that I won't go to our Lord with this outrage!" Lucius finally shouted.

Harry didn't even bother to turn around as he threw over his shoulder, "I dare you to, Lucius. And then I'll simply have to explain to him that you had tortured your son into unconsciousness for no bloody reason. We'll see which of us he's angry with."

Lucius fell silent and Harry left the room with Draco's body floating before him.

ooOOooOOoo

He took Draco to his own room, if only because he didn't want to enter Draco's personal space without the other boy's permission. He settled Draco on his bed and tucked the covers in around him, and asked Tom quietly, ~Should we be summoning a Healer for him?~

~Oh, now you want my advice?~ Tom asked, snarky.

~Tom, could we argue after you tell me if Draco needs outside help?~ Harry implored. He didn't want to fight with Tom while Draco was potentially in some sort of physical distress.

~There isn't really anything that can be done regarding the Cruciatus curse rather than time and rest. Both of which he can receive in adequate measure while in our bed,~ Tom bit out. It was clear that while he was providing the advice, he wasn't happy about doing so.

Harry let out a breath of relief. ~Thank you, Tom,~ he whispered. He sagged back into the very comfortable chair by his own bedside and let himself relax. Draco would either be okay or he wouldn't. There wasn't really anything he could do either way other than wait, and if there was one thing he'd learned from Tom over the years, it was that stressing over things he couldn't control was a great lead-in to insanity.

~Harry, child, we need to talk. Now,~ Tom commanded. His voice was tense, and terse, and so very angry that it took Harry's breath away.

The last thing that Harry wanted to do was face Tom within his mental landscape, but there was nothing for it. He had no reason to deny Tom, and so, with a deep breath and a moment to brace himself, Harry closed his eyes and took a step back into his mind.

Tom was waiting for him in his usual space within Harry's mind, but now it more resembled the sitting room that Harry had met with the Dark Lord in the other night. Tom was in one of the chairs, staring moodily into the fireplace. He looked up when Harry entered, glared for only a second, and then turned his gaze back to the fire. "Have a seat," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.

"You've rearranged in here," Harry commented, trying not to feel like a child being called before a parent for a lecture. He'd done exactly the right thing with Lucius, whether Tom wanted to admit it or not. He would stand by his decision no matter how upset it made Tom.

Tom didn't comment on the decor change. Instead, they sat before the fireplace in silence for Harry didn't even know how long before Tom finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You're not even twelve years old yet," Tom murmured. He still wouldn't look at Harry.

"No, I'm not," Harry agreed. There was no arguing with that, it was a simple fact. He was eleven years old, soon to be twelve. "But I couldn't just stand back and let him torture Draco, Tom. You know that I couldn't."

Tom's head dipped in a shallow nod. "You wouldn't be you if you could," he agreed. "But Harry, we've had this conversation before. I need to be able to protect you. That's... that's the entire reason I woke up in the first place! I've lived here, in your head, for so many years and you're like... you're very important to me. Lucius could have killed you today."

Harry let out a soft sigh. "Tom..." he closed his eyes, considered what he wanted to say, and then finally opened them. What he came out with was a quiet, "I could feel your adrenaline in there. I could feel your shock, your horror, your fear, your amusement at what I'd done."

"Harry?" Tom asked, finally turning to look at him. His eyes were narrowed, concerned. "What are you saying?"

"You warned me, Tom, that you were going away. That you and I were merging. That one of the signs was that I would start feeling your emotions more clearly. It's happening, Tom. I don't know what kind of timeline you were thinking of, but whatever it was, it's starting." The thought was terrifying. Harry wasn't... he wasn't ready for this to happen.

Tom's breath left him in a shuddering sigh. "I know," he confessed, and closed his eyes. "It started when we spoke with Severus, really. Did you not notice that in the mirror what you saw was both your idea of perfection and my own?"

Harry thought back to the scene from the mirror, himself and Tom and Professor Snape all together as a happy family and he realized that Tom was right. He'd had no particular attachment to Professor Snape, he still didn't. There was no reason that Snape should have featured in his idea of a perfect family at all. "So you understand, then," he finally murmured.

"No, Harry, I don't understand!" Tom exploded. "You risked yourself for nothing! And do you know what you did today, Harry? You made yourself an incredibly powerful enemy! Lucius Malfoy is not a man that takes defeat lying down. He'll come after you for this. If not now, Harry, then when you're least expecting it. This was a mistake! You should have let me deal with him! Just what do you think-"

"You won't always be here!" Harry shouted, interrupting Tom.

Tom froze, his red eyes widening in shock. He looked at Harry, horrified.

"You won't always be here," Harry repeated, softer now that Tom wasn't shouting at him. His eyes were swimming with tears and he brushed them away impatiently. "You won't always be here," he said for the third time, softer, trying to make himself believe the statement. "So I need to learn how to stand on my own."

Tom closed his eyes, bowed his head, and then suddenly he moved. He knelt in front of Harry's chair, wrapped his arms around Harry's slender form, buried his face in Harry's chest. "That time isn't yet here. I'm still here for now. You don't have to stand on your own when dealing with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. We still have time, Harry."

"But how much?" Harry asked, his own arms creeping around Tom's shoulders. "How much time do we have?"

"I don't know," Tom whispered with a shake of his head. His shoulders were shaking, and Harry could feel a bit of dampness against his robes. Tom was crying. And just like that, Harry could feel his sorrow and he let out a choked sob as well, curling protectively around Tom.

However much time they had left, it wouldn't be enough.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry couldn't say how long the two of them sat like that, only that enough time passed that the sun came up in the windows of Tom's mind. Harry wasn't sure how accurately that reflected time, but he was pretty sure that he'd never spent so long within his own mindscape. But he couldn't bring himself to let go of Tom, irrationally afraid that the moment he did Tom would disappear on him. He couldn't deal with that.

"It isn't going to happen today, child," Tom finally said. and pulled away from Harry. "Ugh. I'm far too old to be kneeling on the floor," he added with a little smile. It wobbled, but Harry didn't mention it. Tom stood, then, and stretched.

"You're a spirit in my head," Harry said dryly. "Somehow I doubt your bones creak." He took a deep, shuddery breath, and relaxed when he realized that the urge to cry like a pathetic little baby had passed. Thankfully. He'd done more than enough of that today already.

"You've never been just a spirit in anyone's head. How would you know what it feels like?" Tom asked, playful. Harry could see it in the glint of his eyes. He, thankfully, couldn't sense it. He didn't know if he could take much more of sensing Tom's emotions today. He might go mad.

"Just an educated guess," Harry said casually. And then, quietly, "I should probably head back out to the real world. Draco might wake up and be worried when he sees me zoned out on the chair. Not to mention, I'll probably have cramps from spending so long in said chair."

"One moment," Tom muttered, looking thoughtful. Harry waited, eyebrows raised, and finally Tom said, "Listen, I wasn't kidding. Lucius is going to be gunning for you now. You've made a powerful enemy today. So we're going to have to start teaching you the art of duelling, which I hadn't wanted to do until you were much older."

"The art of duelling?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

"There are several rules to it, and... I'm going to have you order a book. _The Art of Duelling_, by Filius Flitwick." Tom was still looking considering, and finally he added, "And also _The Dark Truth_, which is most likely on some restricted reading list somewhere, which means that it will likely be difficult to buy. But the Malfoy family should have a copy of it somewhere. It's a book on the ins and outs Dark magic. You need to... if you're going to go around snapping the wands of Death Eaters, you need to be able to adequately defend yourself. And just knowing the spells isn't quite good enough when it comes to the Dark."

"I'll get my hands on them," Harry promised. He smiled at Tom, then stood up and hugged him. "Thank you," he whispered to the surprised spirit.

"Don't thank me," Tom warned. "You thought I was difficult when teaching you theory? I'm going to be impossible now that we'll actually be working with magic." Tom paused, then said quietly, "This wasn't what I wanted for you Harry."

Harry grinned as he pulled back. "I know. But it is what it is," he responded. He headed for the door of the study and said, "I'll pick up those books."

Just as he opened the door, Tom called after him, "That bit where you snapped Lucius's wand was actually quite brilliant! The look on his face was priceless!"

Harry was grinning as he left his mindscape.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry came back to the outside world, it was to the sight of Draco sitting up, watching him through exhausted, pain-filled grey eyes. His hands, slender and pale and resting against the blanket in his lap, twitched sporadically.

It made Harry cringe to see it. But he smiled and said quietly, "I'm glad to see that you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Draco let out a small, shaky sigh and asked, "How much did you see?" His voice was harsh, likely from the screaming he'd done while under the curse.

It made Harry wish that he'd killed Lucius. The bastard had it coming. "I saw that he had you under the Cruciatus curse," Harry answered. He couldn't see any reason to lie to Draco about that. It wouldn't do any good anyway.

Draco bowed his head, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes. "I wish that you hadn't seen that," he whispered. He raised shaking hands to his face, hiding it away from Harry. "It isn't... it isn't so bad as all that. I mean, he's only got access to me during the summer now."

Unspoken went the painful fact that it hadn't always been that way. Draco hadn't always only been around for the summer. It made Harry's blood boil. "He shouldn't have access to you at all! Not if he's just going to torture you, Draco. It isn't... it isn't right."

Draco was silent for several moments following Harry's outburst, and then, very quietly, "He's my father, Harry," in the most broken tone that Harry thought he'd ever heard in his life.

"What's your point?" Harry bit out. "You can't tell me that you love him, not with the way that he tortures you. Maybe you fear him, maybe you respect him, but you don't love him." He couldn't... Harry couldn't imagine actually loving somebody that could torture you like that. The thought was terrifying.

"You can't tell me how I feel about my father," Draco snarled. His lips were curled up, his expression gritty and raw and ugly when he looked up at Harry. "It isn't as simple as hating him because he hurts me. Because yes, he hurts me. And my mother doesn't notice or doesn't care if she does. But they still brought me into this world. He still wants what's best for me even if he doesn't know how to show it. And I still want to do my best for him. I want to make him proud, Harry, even when he's torturing me. I want to do better." By the time he finished speaking, Draco was looking down at his hands again, watching them shake. He wouldn't look up to meet Harry's eyes at all.

Harry's eyes closed against the onslaught of words. That was... ~Tell me there's some psychological explanation for this?~ he begged Tom. The thought that Draco, sometimes kind, always vain, strong and confident Draco being reduced to this... this... it hurt Harry more than he'd ever realized something could hurt.

~Harry, I'm not... maybe Stockholm Syndrome?~ Tom suggested, then snorted at himself. ~No, Harry, I've got no idea. I certainly never cared about any of those who abused me in my youth, and I don't believe that you did either. Despite your rather strong reaction when I did finally kill your Uncle.~

"But wouldn't... wouldn't you want to be free of this if you could?" Harry asked, hopeful that maybe Draco might be able to see life without his father and find it to be better than his current circumstances.

Those hopes were dashed when Draco shook his head once, sharply. "He's my father, Harry. I can't fathom life without him. I need him to keep me safe from the rest of the world."

"But Draco, who's going to protect you from him?" Harry asked.

"He's my father. It's his right to torture me as he sees fit." Draco lifted one shaking hand just a little bit off the bed and stared at it. "I'm a failure as a son. My father has every right to correct those failures, and I know that it hurts him to do so as much as it hurts me to have it done. But you see, Harry, it's always been the way of the Malfoys. Perfection is more than just a goal, it's a requirement. Until I can meet that requirement, he'll have every right to continue to correct my behavior."

"It doesn't work like that!" Harry protested. "He should love you for who you are, not for some... some unobtainable ideal of perfection that you'll never meet!"

Draco's eyes snapped up, wide and offended. "So you're saying that I'll never meet my father's goals?" he asked, voice as frigid as it had been when he'd accused Harry of attempting to stop the Dark Lord. It was more than a little terrifying to hear.

~Harry, might I suggest backing off on the matter for now?~ Tom murmured, sounding more than a little alarmed. ~I don't think that Draco's ready to hear the truths that you and I both know.~

Harry closed his eyes and said carefully, "That isn't what I meant at all, Draco," in his gentlest, most unassuming voice. Draco responded, relaxing minutely into the bed, and Harry continued with, "I just meant that I already think you're pretty great, and I hate to see you hurting. That's all."

Draco relaxed entirely. "I don't... it isn't that I like hurting," he said in a very small voice, "so don't think that I'm not grateful to you for making him stop earlier today. And he does scare me sometimes, when he threatens to... to make sure that I can no longer be such a stain on the Malfoy name, but he's my father, Harry!"

"I understand," Harry said soothingly, lying through his teeth. He didn't get it. Even when he'd been freaking out about Tom killing his Uncle, he didn't think he'd really mourned the man. He'd gotten what was coming to him. But Harry could tell that Draco absolutely would mourn his father were the man to drop dead right then and there. It confused him to no end.

~Maybe he'd mourn the father he never had,~ Tom suggested.

"So what did happen with my father after I passed out?" Draco asked suddenly. His eyes were drifting closed as he spoke, his body sagging further into the pillows.

Harry coughed, cleared his throat, blushed, and said nothing.

His silence was apparently enough to wake Draco up entirely, and the blond sat up once more. "Seriously, Harry. What did you do to my father after I passed out?" he asked once more.

"You won't like it," Harry warned, still blushing. He'd just avoided a fight with Draco; he didn't want another one. And Draco really wouldn't like this, he just knew it.

"Now you're frightening me," Draco said. And then he blanched and he asked, desperately, "You didn't kill him already, did you Harry?" He looked absolutely gutted by the thought.

"What? No! He's not dead! He might be insanely embarrassed, but he's not dead," Harry said loudly. And then he looked away and muttered, "Imighthavesnappedhiswand."

"You... you what?" Draco asked, an absolute and utter lack of inflection in his voice.

"I said, I might have snapped his wand," Harry repeated, slightly louder. His lips were curling into a smile now with remembered pride at the feeling of Lucius's wand snapping like a dry twig within his hands. He still couldn't believe it had been so easy to pull it from Lucius's hand. You would think that the wizard would have more of a grip when things like the summoning charm could be used at any moment to disarm him. Was he just that arrogant? It didn't really matter, it was better for Harry that the wand had been so easily grabbed, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

"You snapped... you snapped my father's wand?" Draco repeated, mouth dropping open like a fish when Harry dared to look up at him.

"He had it coming! I warned him, he knows what I carry within me, and he still tried to curse me with the Cruciatus curse. I couldn't just let that slide, Draco!" Harry was scowling defensively, he couldn't help it.

Draco... giggled. It was a tiny sound, almost a snort, and the moment it passed from his lips he began to laugh aloud. "You... oh, Harry, if I could have seen his face!" Draco said, still giggling.

"You're... not angry?" Harry asked, relaxing just a bit. Draco was smiling, and giggling, that had to be a good thing, right?

Draco shook his head, still giggling. His hands were still shaking, he still looked pale and drawn, and Harry knew that he wouldn't budge on the matter of his father just yet, but at least for now he was smiling and laughing.

It gave Harry hope that maybe one day Draco wouldn't be so devastated if he gave Lucius what was coming to him.

~Harry, have I ever told you how chilling it is how very bloodthirsty you are when it comes to Draco?~ Tom asked, sounding just a bit concerned. Draco had finally stopped laughing and succumbed to the pull of exhaustion, falling asleep still sitting up, his head slumping awkwardly to one side.

So Harry felt perfectly secure in smiling a vicious, bloodthirsty little grin. ~I only learned from the best, Tom,~ he said quietly. He tucked Draco back under the covers, not wanting the other to wake with a crick in his neck. He would be uncomfortable enough in the coming days without the added problem of neck strain.

~So I take it that there's no chance that I'll convince you to go away on holiday this summer,~ Tom asked as they watched Draco sleep.

~Oh, no. I intend on staying here and making absolutely certain that dear Lucius can't hurt Draco again,~ Harry answered calmly. ~And if he does, if I see it happening again Tom, all bets are off. At least if Lucius is dead Draco will be both alive and sane enough to hate me.~

ooOOooOOoo

The summer passed uneasily.

On the one hand, Harry had a great time with Draco once they'd agreed to disagree on the subject of one Lucius Malfoy. They ran about outside, practiced some standard Quidditch formations, and had massive pillow fights in Draco's room once the blond knew what a pillow fight was. Harry learned to ride a horse, then a pegasus, and while he definitely preferred his broom, the pegasus was quite entertaining. Although Harry's had thrown him once, much to Draco's entertainment.

He also obtained those books Tom had requested. The second had, in fact, been on the restricted list. He'd run into Professor Snape, though, and had quietly asked the other where he might find it. Professor Snape had studied him for a moment, one eyebrow raised, looking at him as though he wasn't fit to scrape mud off of his shoes, and then taken Harry to his own personal library where he handed over the tome in question. Harry had thanked him rather profusely and taken excellent care of the novel while it was in his hands. He and Tom practiced within Harry's mindscape, in a cavernous room that Harry had never seen before. It was sort of creepy the way that Tom could add and change rooms in Harry's mind, but Harry realized that essentially his mind was Tom's home and well, wouldn't you want to rearrange your home on occasion?

On the other hand, he was waiting rather uneasily for the other shoe to drop. He'd thrown down a gauntlet with Lucius, a fact that the other didn't let him forget. When Lucius showed up at dinner for the first time three nights after the incident, it was with an entirely different wand. When Professor Snape had enquired about it, Lucius had nearly bit his head off and had raised his wand to him, prompting their Lord to involve himself in the discussion. After receiving a round of the Cruciatus curse for attempting to attack the Dark Lord's lover, Lucius had glared so severely at Harry that Harry actually could feel a little bit of singing at the edges of his robes. It was disturbing. And, if Harry was honest, a little bit entertaining.

But Lucius didn't make any moves that summer, a fact that only left Harry more on edge. Lucius Malfoy was not the kind of man to allow an insult to go unanswered. He would be plotting revenge, both Harry and Tom were sure of it. Harry just had to make sure that he was ready when that revenge presented itself, that was all.

These were the thoughts running through Harry's head when Voldemort summoned him to his sitting room on the eve of his return to Hogwarts. Had Lucius finally told Voldemort about Harry snapping his wand? Was there something else at play here? He'd been ignored by the Dark Lord all summer beyond that first meeting; what could he possibly want now?

His question was answered the minute he settled into the chair next to the Dark Lord. "Harry, child, I have a task for you in the coming year..."

* * *

A/N: Ahh, 24 reviews for one little old chapter? You guys rock! I look forward to hearing from you all again with this one! Also, I've got a feel for everyone's feelings on Ginny, so there's now a new poll on my profile. About Harry's year four, because we all know what's coming then.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Fourteen-

Harry settled uneasily in the chair next to Voldemort. He didn't particularly want to be here; he felt awkward right now. They would be returning to Hogwarts tomorrow; why would Voldemort have waited until the eve before he returned to talk to him? It was uncomfortable not knowing exactly what to expect, and Harry didn't like being uncomfortable. He didn't know anybody that did, as it happened.

"Thank you for coming here tonight," Voldemort finally said, leaning back in his chair. His fingers were steepled, and Harry couldn't help comparing him to a villain in the movies once more. Maybe Voldemort had seen those same movies? Most likely not, considering that Tom had left the Muggle world behind far before movies were prevalent.

~I dare you to ask him,~ Tom said, snickering.

Harry let out a huffing sigh. "It wasn't a problem coming, my Lord. I am, after all, at your disposal. After all, for all that this is technically Malfoy Manor, you were the one to offer me shelter here. For that, I'm grateful." Tom, he ignored. It seemed as Harry grew more mature, Tom grew more juvenile. Harry wasn't sure that he liked that so much, either. Harry wasn't liking much at all right about now.

"I take it that Tom is being inappropriate?" Voldemort asked, one eyebrow raising.

"You could say that," Harry muttered. ~Seriously, stop making me look like an idiot when I'm speaking the version of you that's actually, you know, living.~

~Ooh, somebody's cranky,~ Tom sang, still snickering over his own wit.

~Seriously.~ Harry went back to tuning Tom out, focusing his attention entirely on Voldemort, who was looking, thankfully, patiently amused rather than irritated.

"If he's quite finished," Voldemort said, glaring at Harry, or more likely at Tom within Harry, "then I have some things I'd like you to do for me over the coming school year if you'd be willing."

"As my Lord wills it," Harry answered. What else was there to say? He had the feeling that Voldemort wouldn't take too well to a simple 'no'. Tom certainly never had, and still didn't, and he was a much mellower version of the Dark Lord.

"The first is arguably the simplest. I need for you to retrieve my diadem from the room of hidden things. I'm sure that Tom remembers where the room is and how to access it," Voldemort said dryly.

~I do,~ Tom confirmed.

"He does, sir," Harry said aloud.

"Excellent. Once retrieved, you'll store the diadem within the Chamber of Secrets, along with a book that I'd like you to retrieve from the Headmaster's office. That won't be an easy task, but I'm sure that you and Tom together can manage it before Christmas, which is when I'll expect you to present both the diadem and the book." Voldemort studied his hands, and then said quietly, "I would much appreciate it if you did not attempt to read it."

"If that's your wish, sir, I will do my best not to indulge my curiosity," Harry responded obediently. He meant it, too. He didn't want to lose Voldemort's respect for a little bit of curiosity. If he played his cards right he'd be given the opportunity to read what was in the book a little later anyway.

~How exactly does he expect us to sneak into the Headmaster's office with all those portraits lying about? And also, how does he want us to deal with that bloody phoenix?~ Tom asked, sounding vexed. All traces of laughter were gone from the spirit's voice now, and Harry could feel the spirit reviewing magical theory within his mind.

It was a disconcerting feeling, but Harry tuned it out as best as he could. "Tom wants to know what you want us to do about the phoenix and the portraits," Harry repeated to the Dark Lord, who seemed to be waiting for something.

"Well, you'll just have to figure something out, won't you? Perhaps that lovely cloak of yours might do some good in your search?" Voldemort suggested. He was smirking, now, a cruel little smirk that delighted in Harry's uncertainty. "After all, this is something that I would be able to do were I able to gain access to the school. I've no doubt that the spirit within you can do the same."

"Of course we can, my Lord," Harry said, affronted at the idea that Tom was incapable of doing something. It just wasn't true. Tom had never failed him before, after all. He had no doubt that Tom would come through once more for him.

~Harry, your confidence in me is absolutely touching,~ Tom said, no trace of sarcasm within his voice.

Harry flushed and ducked his head and said, "Was there anything else I should know about the book?" he asked, trying to disguise his embarrassment. Of course it didn't do too much good; the one he wanted to hide from was within his head. There wasn't really any hiding of emotions from the being within his head, after all.

Voldemort leaned forward and tapped a large, faded black volume lying sedately on the table, its script in faded white lettering, so faded it was almost grey. Voldemort lifted the book and handed it to Harry, who studied the cover. _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_, the title read, _by Owle Bullock_.

Harry's eyes widened. He flipped open the book, only to find the pages covered in an indecipherable scrawl. Harry blinked at it, squinted, but it did nothing. "What is this?" he asked, hesitant.

"This is an exact replica of the book I'd like you to take from the Headmaster's office. Not the inside, of course, as I obviously cannot recall the full text. There's a reason I need that book from the Headmaster. Hopefully he'll have read all that he needs to from it and he won't notice it. The outside, though, the title, that's the real thing. If he doesn't flip through it for several years, it will be far too late for him to do anything about the theft. It's exactly the volume that I want you to take for me, and I'd like you to leave this one in it's place. The Headmaster ideally won't notice a difference in the two until it's far too late."

Harry snapped the book shut. "I can do that," he said with a confidence he didn't really feel at all. "This book.. what exactly is it about?" Harry asked rather hesitantly. He didn't want to be seen as questioning the Dark Lord, but he was genuinely curious. Tom refused to discuss the some of the darkest arts with him, despite their rather intense training within his mindscape over the summer. Said that he was too young. Though Harry was reluctant to admit it, there was the chance that Tom was right.

"It is," Voldemort began, then paused. Finally, he started again with a quiet, "It is about things you are infinitely too young to be learning of. I would prefer it if you did not read through the manual in question. The magics contained within are questionable at best. I..." Voldemort paused, as though considering. "I merely need to look into correcting some things that I have meddled with that perhaps I should not have."

Harry's eyebrows raised with curiosity, but he swallowed his questions. Once he felt that he'd be able to speak without bursting out with an inappropriate question, Harry said, "I should be able to obtain the book and the diadem before Christmas, as you requested sir. Providing there are no major mishaps, and that Tom cooperates with our goals." Harry waited a moment, then asked, "You did mention a third task?" rather hesitantly.

Voldemort smiled, a grim little thing. "I would imagine that this is where the spirit within you and I are going to argue." The Dark Lord waited a moment, then said, "I would like for you to open the Chamber of Secrets once more and unleash that which lies within on the student body for the second time in our history."

~No,~ Tom said flatly, ~absolutely not.~

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "You're right, sir, he's refusing entirely," he informed Voldemort. ~What's so bad about doing that?~ Harry asked Tom.

~You're too young. I absolutely won't have him turning you into some kind of an assassin during your tenure at Hogwarts. It's ridiculous, unthinkable even.~ Tom's voice was shaking in his anger, and Harry could feel it rising up within him, making his breath come faster and his head begin to spin.

"Are you quite alright, child?" Voldemort asked. His expression could almost be classified as concerned.

"Fine, sir, Tom's just... he's just very furious at the thought of me opening the Chamber of Secrets, whatever that is," Harry said, rather perplexed by Tom's sudden rage at the idea of him doing the Dark Lord's bidding. Had this not been what Tom had wanted all along, for Harry to get involved and be of assistance to Voldemort?

~Not like this!~ Tom howled. ~Not while you're so young! You're going to play Quidditch this year, not go about murdering students!~

~Murdering students?~ Harry echoed, sounding faintly horrified. ~Who said anything about murdering students?~ And then, aloud, he said, "Tom seems to think that you want me to go about murdering students. I think I should say, sir, if that's your intention I won't be able to do it. I don't think that Tom will let me."

"I was under the impression that Tom couldn't actively control your body," Voldemort murmured. He began to tap his wand against the arm of his chair.

Harry watched the tip of the wand move rather warily. He was rather reluctant to be cursed again, as he was sure that anybody would understand. "He can't, sir," Harry finally agreed. "But he can make things so very difficult to concentrate that it becomes quite impossible for me to accomplish a task. He's done so before," Harry said darkly. He didn't like to think about that one History of Magic last year, when Tom had been so annoyed by Binns that he'd made it impossible for Harry to pay attention to the lecture. Not that there was much to pay attention to, but that wasn't even the point. Harry was still irritated that there was a great, gaping hole in his notes from last year, right between November the third and fifth.

~Oh, please, you didn't even leave an empty spot to borrow Draco's notes,~ Tom muttered in protest. ~That's how worthless the class was. Is, since you're still stuck in it.~

"You can tell him... or rather, if he's listening, he should understand that I'm not actually asking you to kill anybody. That would be counterproductive as I don't wish for the school to be shut down. No, what I'm asking for you to do, Harry, is to provide a distraction for the Headmaster to concern himself with while I make and potentially enact plans of my own."

Harry could feel Tom relax within him at Voldemort's matter-of-fact statement. Harry relaxed as well. To be perfectly honest, he hadn't been looking forward to the idea of becoming a murderer so early on in life, either. But he would have done it because he'd chosen his side. And the side that he was on wouldn't win the war with hugs and kisses and fluffy kittens.

Although Minerva was turning into quite the warrior. She'd brought Harry dead mice for his birthday which had amused him and horrified Draco, who apparently hadn't been aware that there were mice within the manor. Which had led to magical exterminators being called. It had made Harry's rather sedate party that much more entertaining, watching the Malfoys be horrified by the presence of mice.

"I think that Tom and I can manage a distraction, sir. What specifically did you have in mind?" Harry asked, pushing aside the thoughts of his birthday luncheon and his kitten. Well, cat at this point.

Voldemort was smiling again, a grim and vicious little thing. "Five mudblood students over the course of the year, Mr. Potter. That's all I want to be petrified. Not killed, petrified. Saliss will help you with that; you'll find him in the Chamber of Secrets. As you will need parseltongue to communicate with Saliss, I would think that the soul-shard inside of you will need to do all the talking."

Harry hesitated. A memory sprang vividly to his mind of the incident with the boa constrictor and Tom telling him that he was a parselmouth. Did Voldemort really need to know that information? Or, perhaps the better question was, was there any value in hiding the fact from the Dark Lord? No, there really wasn't. "Sir, actually, with all due respect, I am a parselmouth."

Voldemort actually looked surprised. "Are you, then? I wasn't aware that it was a gift inherent within the Potter line," he murmured to himself, brow furrowing.

"No, sir, as far as I'm aware it isn't. But it is a gift in your line, is it not?" Harry asked quietly.

Voldemort let out a small hiss. "I forgot," he said flatly, "that you'd misappropriated some of my powers." He sent Harry a disapproving look, then sighed and said, "Well, I suppose it's all to the good that you have the ability. It will make your task with Saliss that much easier."

"Did you want me to space them out throughout the year, or do you want them all by Christmas?" Harry asked, to make absolutely certain that he had his order of events correct and all of his ducks in a row. He didn't want to disappoint Voldemort so soon by not knowing exactly what he needed to have done.

"Throughout the year. As I said, I'd like to keep Dumbledore out of my hair."

~We can do that, Harry,~ Tom said, sounding relieved. Harry could feel his relief, and he could empathize with it. He hadn't been looking forward to committing murder. "Tom and I will take care of it, my Lord," Harry said with a nod of his head.

"Good." Voldemort sighed, then said quietly, "Then that's all that I needed from you. Dismissed, Mr. Potter. Don't be afraid to write if you think you can do so in a way that won't attract the Headmaster's attention."

"My Lord," Harry said in acknowledgement. He stood, offered Voldemort a short, precise bow, then turned on his heel and left the room. He really didn't want to be hexed for disobeying just before returning to Hogwarts. After all, if he played his cards right, he'd still have time for Quidditch during the school year. ~Right Tom?~ Harry asked.

Tom let out a heavy sigh. ~And here I'd hoped that you'd given up on that ridiculous notion,~ he said mournfully.

ooOOooOOoo

"You're leaving me in the morning," Voldemort whispered against the delicate skin of Severus's neck.

Severus shuddered, he couldn't help it. He'd been brewing; he hadn't heard his Lord enter the room. As always, Voldemort had waited until he had finished the latest, crucial stage in his potion before interrupting, so Severus had time to enjoy the attentions of his lover. Well, he had ten minutes before the next ingredient had to be added.

"You need me there, if only to monitor the old fool," Severus murmured, sagging back against Tom as his Lord's arms curled around his stomach. He'd been alone for ten long years; it was still so very hard to believe that his Lord had come back to him, as whole and healthy as when he'd gone away. It was nothing less than a miracle. He savored the feeling.

"I do," Tom was confirming, nuzzling at Severus's throat. "But I miss you when you're gone all the same. And we've only just been reunited."

Severus chuckled. "It's been two months," he protested, a smile still playing at the edge of his lips. "We've more than become reacquainted with one another's nuances once more." He straightened and turned in his Lord's arms, smiling into those crimson eyes of his. "But I will miss you so very much when I'm there with Dumbledore."

His Lord hissed softly, the parseltongue words vibrating against Severus's lips and making him shudder. He couldn't understand the tongue, but the sound was... inspiring, to say the least. "I've given the Potter boy a task, several, in fact," Tom murmured into Severus's ear, his breath brushing against it with every word. "I'd like to see if he can accomplish them on his own. Your task will be to both observe him and to help keep Dumbledore off of him should the suspicion prove to be too much for the boy to deal with."

Severus shuddered. Never had orders sounded so sexy as they did when they came from his Lord. "Your will is mine, my Lord," he murmured.

"Hmm... always so obedient, my Severus," Tom murmured, then bent down and took Severus's lips in a kiss. "I should send you off with something to remember me by," he hissed, and Severus couldn't find it in him to object.

Behind them, the experimental potion turned an awful shade of mottled brown, then bubbled, and hissed, and eventually overflowed and melted both the cauldron and the counter it sat upon before it cooled. But they were both focused on other things, and so they neither noticed nor cared.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron's summer had not gone well.

From the moment he'd gotten off the train, he'd known it wasn't going to. His parents were still furious with him over the whole 'befriending Draco Malfoy' thing he'd done during the school year. Ron still didn't regret it, even if it meant that his summer with his parents was passed in a stony silence. Of course, his ill thought out diatribe against Muggles in general probably hadn't helped with that. He didn't even know why he'd said the things he'd said; he knew they weren't entirely true. He'd probably just been trying to annoy his parents, and it had worked. Better than he'd wanted.

He knew that they were worried about him. He could understand that; he was a little worried that his friendship with Draco and Harry was changing him, too. He would most likely have been an entirely different person had he not become friends with Harry on the train the first day. But would he have been a better person? No, Ron was pretty sure he wouldn't've. Remembering the jealousy that he'd had to fight back even as his two friends lay in the hospital wing, he thought the changes wrought were probably good changes, which was where his opinion differed from his parents. He didn't understand how they didn't approve of the way that he knew he was changing. Before he'd been so eager to be better than his brothers, now he knew that he was well on his way to that. Shouldn't they be glad that he'd gained a little bit of self-esteem?

But no. They were most assuredly not glad. And Ron was sort of getting sick of the worried glances in his direction when they thought that he wasn't paying attention. And the extra chores. Such as this one. De-gnoming the garden was a boring, irritating task. _But I am good at it_, he mused as he sent one of the little pests flying over the garden wall. That one wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.

"You know, you could just apologize to them for whatever it was that you did," Ginny said suddenly, and Ron jumped. He hadn't realized that she'd been watching him.

"I could, but that would be a lie. I'm not actually sorry," he said, turning to his little sister. She was seated on the low wall of the garden, studying him rather curiously. "What?" he asked.

"Just what did you do, anyway? Mum and Dad won't say." She hopped off the wall, smoothed down her skirt, then moved to stand next to him. "They're acting like it's a huge scandal or something. But I know you, Ron, you're just not the scandal type. So what's got them all in a tizzy?"

Ron sighed. "I was Sorted into Slytherin. You know that, right?"

She nodded. "I heard. I was surprised when I heard. We're all Gryffindors; you don't belong there," Ginny said.

Ron shook his head. "You're wrong." He'd argued with the hat at first. Oh, he'd argued. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed spending time with Harry and Draco on the train, it was that he knew that if he went to Slytherin it would change him. He wasn't stupid then, and he still wasn't now. His parents claimed to be good, decent folk, and they were, but they didn't see any graduates of Slytherin house as being the same. They never had. They liked to tell their children to be tolerant, but they didn't practice that in reality. He hadn't wanted to deal with that when he came home for the summer.

"What am I wrong about?" Ginny asked, staring at Ron with brown eyes wide.

"I do belong in Slytherin. I wasn't sure, not at first, but I am now. The Sorting Hat made the right choice when it sent me to Slytherin." It had taken Ron far too long to come to that conclusion. In fact, even when he'd arrived home for the summer he'd still been wondering if maybe the hat had made a mistake, but he knew now that it hadn't.

"You should maybe head inside and tell Mum and Dad that," Ginny suggested, shuffling her feet awkwardly in the dirt.

Ron snorted. "Why would I do that? You don't think they'd actually listen, do you?" Because they wouldn't. He knew his parents, they would never believe that he truly thought he belonged in Slytherin house. He knew exactly what they'd say. He was only twelve. He didn't know what he wanted out of life. He was too young to understand the implications of his sorting.

"I think you'll be kicking yourself if you don't," Ginny answered, now fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "I mean, they've got the Headmaster in there to talk about getting you resorted. I thought maybe you might want to stand up and give your opinion about it."

Ron's eyes widened. "Thanks Ginny!" he shouted, and took off towards the house. Hopefully it wasn't too late and they hadn't already made a decision.

ooOOooOOoo

It was a little known fact of the wizarding world that Albus Dumbledore despised parents. They were ridiculous. They were meddlesome. What was it about parents that made them think that they knew their children so well after they hadn't seen them, in some cases, for nine months? They saw the child for three months out of the year, at most. Albus saw them every day. Why, why, why would they then think that they knew their child better than Albus did? It was a constant, ongoing source of frustration for the Headmaster, one that most people wouldn't understand.

The Weasleys, as a general rule, did not fall into this category of parents. For one thing, they were in fact quite in tune with their children. They understood their children better than most parents did, and it was a delight to work with them. For another, unless they had to be called in on a matter, Molly and Arthur were generally content to let Albus handle matters as he saw fit. Apparently, this was no longer the case.

"Albus, please, you have to understand that being in Slytherin is damaging Ron!" Molly cried. She was so distraught over the matter that she was actually weeping.

Even knowing that Molly would weep at the drop of a hat, Albus was still more than a little disconcerted. "Molly, I understand that you and Arthur are upset," Albus began, only to be interrupted by a hand slamming on the table. Startled, he turned his gaze on the generally more even-tempered of the two, Arthur.

Arthur, who was red in the face he was so angry. Who had been moved to slam his hand on the table, something that Albus didn't think he'd ever seen the man do. "No, Albus, I don't think you understand at all," the man said, quite mildly considering his red face.

Albus gritted his teeth on the snarl that wanted to escape. "Then please, Arthur, why don't you tell me," he suggested with an easy, grandfatherly smile. It was difficult, but he even managed to add a twinkle in there.

"Do you know what Ron said to us, the night he came home from Hogwarts? We argued, and he told us that Muggles were... were monsters that would kill us all if they found out about us. We didn't raise him to think like that, Albus," Arthur said imploringly.

"I understand that," Albus soothed. "But all houses will have silly little tales being told that don't necessarily reflect reality. Why, every year I have a distraught parent firecalling because their little Ravenclaw was told that the ghost of Rowena will attack any students who don't score perfectly on their exams."

"That isn't the same, Albus! That has no real world basis. But attitudes like the ones prevalent in Slytherin are a real problem out in the wizarding world! We don't want poor little Ron to be exposed to such things. To be exposed to... to Malfoys!" Molly spat the last word like it was a curse. Arthur's head was bobbing in agreement, and he took his wife's hand in an obvious show of solidarity.

Albus let out an internal groan and resisted the urge to make it external. There it was, the root of the entire problem. Of course this would come back to the family's blood feud with the Malfoys. Of course. It would horrify them to know that Ron had actually made friends with the Malfoy scion, and no doubt they were hoping that with a re-sorting, Ron would be forced to separate from what they thought of as a very poor influence on their son.

Albus took a moment to consider exactly what it was that he wanted to say about the matter, then said quietly, "I certainly understand your concerns about the Malfoy boy. To be perfectly honest, I share those same concerns. The Malfoy family is a cancer upon our world, one that I would cut out if only I could." He bowed his head and shook it mournfully, deliberately evoking a memory within the two before him of the way that Lucius had bribed his way out of Azkaban in the aftermath of the first war with Voldemort.

There was silence for a moment and then, falteringly, "Then you understand why we want Ron moved, right? And you'll do that for us?" from Arthur. His voice was low, pleading.

Albus mournfully shook his head once more, the picture of a grandfather who had made many hard choices in his life. "How can I justify asking the Hat to move him when it was I that insisted that he go there in the first place?" There was a loud banging sound after he spoke. Albus fought down an eyeroll at the antics of the twins. They were impossible.

"Albus!" Molly exclaimed, shocked. "Why would you have done such a thing?" she asked, voice still choked and weepy.

Albus sighed. To tell them, or not to tell them? They trusted him, that much was obvious. And it would certainly be the path of least resistance. So... "I'm afraid it's all to do with the Potter boy. I met him before school started, you see, when his Uncle was felled by a wandless, wordless Killing Curse. He is... he is a disturbing individual." Albus closed his eyes. There was just something so off about the child. If only he could figure out what, he could take steps to fix it. The fact remained that all was not as it was supposed to be. And the Sorcerer's Stone was gone, too. Albus was still sore over that. Flamel had been furious with him for losing the Stone, on top of possibly having that annoying little upstart running around once more.

"What does that have to do with our Ron?" Arthur demanded, looking upset.

"I could see, even though I had only moments with him, that Harry was going to Slytherin. And you all know of the influences within Slytherin. I couldn't... I couldn't let those influences go unchecked." Albus allowed his voice to choke up, here, as though he was truly devastated by what he was saying. He really, really wasn't. "I had to choose a student just coming in, a little one that I knew I could trust, that had a good family to support them and that had been taught right from wrong consistently. So I... I ordered the Hat to place little Ron in Slytherin, in the hope that it would keep the Potter boy from falling to some of the worst influences within the wizarding world."

"Oh, Albus!" Molly cried. She burst into great sobs once more and asked through her tears, "Is it really that important that the boy be kept on our side of things? I mean, so what if another one falls? Do you have to sacrifice our youngest son to that cause?"

"The war isn't over, Molly, Arthur," Albus said, with a grave nod for each of them. "Not many people know this, but it's really just beginning. Harry will play an instrumental role in the war that's coming, and your son is being given the precious opportunity to help shape the way that Harry looks at the world. You must understand that war is a terrible business, and sometimes it does require sacrifice. What Ron is doing, the house where Ron's been sorted, both are in the name of the greater good. He's invaluable where we've got him now."

By the end of his speech, Molly was still sniffling a bit, but she had bowed her head in assent. Arthur was nodding along, brow furrowed but mind clear of any dissent.

When Albus left only moments later, he was convinced that he would have no more trouble from the Weasleys.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron stared up at the ceiling, feeling curiously numb.

He was being sacrificed. Like a pawn needed to lure the opposing knight into the right position, Ron was being sacrificed.

It didn't matter that Ron was pretty sure that no actual harm would come to him in Slytherin. It didn't matter that he liked where he was. It didn't matter that he would have been devastated had he been forced to Sort to another house now that the first year was over. The point was that his parents thought he was in some sort of danger, whether it be moral or physical, and they were letting him stay in the name of the greater good.

He was being sacrificed.

Okay, yes, he was getting what he wanted. He was being allowed to stay in Slytherin. But... but what did it matter? His parents were, apparently, willing to throw him away. To let him stay in what they believed to be a dangerous situation just because the Headmaster said to do so. In the name of the greater good, he was being offered up to the evils of Slytherin. Never mind that Slytherin wasn't evil in the first place, that wasn't the point.

Ron wasn't sure that he'd ever be able to trust his parents again. Not after this.

* * *

**A/N: You guys rock! Seriously, you're all awesome. I love you all so much! In case you couldn't tell, that was a 'thanks for all the reviews' from an overworked author. I look forward to hearing what you think of Harry's tasks and Ron's parents!**


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Fifteen-

Harry was almost bouncing in place as they waited on the train for Ron to show up. He couldn't help it; they hadn't seen Ron, really seen him that was to say, since the end of the school year. They'd run into him briefly while they shopped in Diagon Alley for their school supplies, but Ron hadn't been able to take the time to talk to them. Ron had tried, but his parents had given him such an awful look that he'd backed down almost immediately.

"Would you please sit still?" Draco finally snapped. He had a book in his hand, but he'd been reading the same page for over ten minutes as far as Harry could tell.

Harry froze. "I hadn't realized I wasn't," he answered carefully. Things between them had been strained ever since the incident with Lucius when Harry first arrived.

Oh, Draco was the perfect host, absolutely. He still made sure that Harry was being entertained, still spent time with him, but... there was something else there. A wariness to all of their interactions that broke Harry's heart. He'd tried to tell Draco that he wasn't interested in doing anything that Draco didn't want him to, but it didn't seem to do any good. Draco was still so... so nervous, Harry supposed, that Harry was going to turn in his father that it colored all of their interactions from that moment on.

Harry did his absolute best to be unassuming and unthreatening. He made no hostile gestures towards Lucius, never spoke another word against the man after that first argument over the summer, but he did make absolutely certain that Draco wasn't left alone with his father. Harry couldn't do anything less than that. It hurt him to think of Draco hurting when Harry knew that he could prevent it.

"Your knee was twitching," Draco bit out. He shook his head then, once, sharply, and added, "I'm sorry. It isn't your fault that I'm so irritable." Draco lifted a hand to brush his hair back, and Harry realized with a start that it was shaking.

"Draco, did..." Harry trailed off. Of course he hadn't been with Draco all day and all night during the summer. It would have been impossible. The possibility certainly existed that Lucius had managed to corner his son at some point during the previous two and half months. Harry hadn't even considered that possibility.

~Idiot,~ Tom said fondly, and Harry fought the urge to argue with the spirit. If Tom had known it to be a possibility, why had Tom not helped him prepare for that eventuality? ~Because, you silly little child, unlike some of those in this body I know when it's my place to intervene.~

~You say that like there's more than two of us in here,~ Harry said warily. He knew that it was just himself and Tom within his mind, but the way that Tom phrased it made Harry feel like there were more people in there, just waiting to pop out. Now that he thought about it, that was probably Tom's idea of a practical joke.

"That's none of your business, Potter," Draco snapped, jolting Harry back to reality.

"My apologies, Malfoy," he shot back, one eyebrow raising. "Are we really going back to last names over this?"

"I just don't think it's any of your business if-"

The compartment door slid open, and Draco cut off looking horrified as Ron slid into the train compartment. he settled his things and then flopped rather gracelessly into his seat. He glanced at both of them and muttered a less than pleased, "Hey."

"Hi there," Harry asked, and began to wonder if maybe it was something in the air that was making both Ron and Draco more irritable than normal. Was it affecting him as well, and maybe he wasn't noticing it? ~Tom, am I being more irritable than normal?~ he asked plaintively.

~No, Harry. It isn't something in the air. Use that brain of yours that I know is in there. You know Draco's deepest, darkest secret. Ron's probably spent the entire summer defending his friendships, unsuccessfully, to his parents. Neither one of them is in the best of shape right now, emotionally speaking. Don't forget that both of them are only twelve years old, and they don't have the benefit of a sixty year old man living inside their minds.~

Harry checked a sigh. He didn't want to irritate either of them any more than they already were. Because when Tom phrased it like that, yeah, Harry could see why both might be a little moody. That didn't necessarily mean that he liked it. He wished that he could do something to help both of them, but somehow he just knew that wasn't welcome. Well, Draco had come out and said it, but he had a feeling that Ron would be much the same way. Not that there was really anything he could do for Ron, anyway. What could he do? _Imperius_ Ron's parents into accepting Ron's friends? Or maybe he could _Obliviate_ their memories of the blood feud. Because Ron would absolutely appreciate either of those actions.

Instead, quietly, carefully, Harry asked, "Game of chess, anyone?"

Ron hesitated, then said finally, "I could go for a game. Especially since I know that I'm going to win if the match is against you!" He was smiling, now, but the smile appeared a little stiff and unnatural. Harry wanted so badly to push, to know what was wrong, but he resisted the urge.

"I suppose I can play the winner. Which, of course, means that I'll play Ron," Draco drawled. He was looking just a little bit more relaxed as well, and Harry allowed his sigh of relief to escape.

By the time the trolley witch came around with sweets, things were almost back to normal and Ron was howling at Harry, "There's no way that anybody on earth can play as badly as you do, Harry!"

Tom was agreeing, and Draco was laughing aloud, his hands no longer shaking. The year hadn't even begun yet, and already it was looking up.

ooOOooOOoo

This year was going to suck, Harry thought morosely as he stared at the smarmy blond wizard staring back at the students from the teacher's table.

~Oh, Harry, it might not be that...~ Tom trailed off into laughter, unable to finish his statement. Harry fought down a sneer.

~Don't give me that bullshit. Look at the man! There's no way, no way in hell that you can tell me that a smarmy looking wizard like that knows anything about Defense!~ Harry snarled, unable to stop himself. This was absolutely ludicrous. What had the Headmaster been thinking?

~Probably that he was the only one who would take the job,~ Tom said with a smug little snicker.

Harry froze, his fork halfway up to his mouth. He very deliberately finished taking his bite of food, then asked Tom rather severely, ~What did you do?~

~What makes you think that I did anything?~ Tom asked, as innocent as a thief.

~I want you to know that, were we not in public, I would absolutely be glaring at you in the mirror right now,~ Harry shot back. ~I think that you did something because I know you, Tom, and I know that you would have done something mean like cursing a profession when it did something to spite you.~

~Honestly, Harry, what a cruel thing to accuse me of! And just when you'd planned to sneak out and go after the diadem, too. You'll have a hard time doing that today if you don't be nice to me,~ Tom sang.

~Like you'll prevent me from completing one of Voldemort's tasks out of pique,~ Harry shot back instantly. ~And also, what did you do to the Defense position, Tom?~

~You're so cruel to me, Harry. And you've got no flair for style. You have no idea what form vengeance should take,~ Tom complained. ~Knowing you, you'll tell me to undo it.~

~No flair for style? What do you call snapping Lucius's wand?~ Harry protested.

~Okay, so that took style. I'll give you that one. But you still don't know a thing about vengeance, and how long it should take.~

~I'm twelve, as you're so fond of pointing out. I shouldn't know a damned thing about vengeance. I don't even have any reasons to take vengeance on a person right now. But you do, Tom. So again, what did you do?~

~There's a possibility that, in my somewhat misspent youth, I may have been interested in taking on the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. And there is also a chance that, when denied the opportunity to do so by one Albus Dumbledore, I may or may not have cursed the position for all following candidates. You'll never have a professor for longer than a year in that class, Harry, so long as my curse remains in effect,~ Tom said, sounding terribly chipper.

Harry sort of wanted to strangle him right then and there. ~Seriously? You're the reason that we had Quirrell, who was an idiot, and now this smarmy bastard?~ he asked incredulously.

~Don't be so upset. I'm also the reason that Quirrell was gone after a year, aren't I?~ Tom asked, the picture of wounded pride. Harry could just see him standing there in that sitting room of his, hands clasped to his heart, red eyes wide in innocence.

Harry didn't buy the image for a minute. ~If only because your face was attached to his head, yes,~ Harry shot back, irritated.

"Harry, mate?" Ron asked hesitantly, jarring Harry from his argument with Tom.

"Yeah, Ron?" Harry asked, trying not to look like he'd just been arguing with a spirit that lived inside his head. People tended to frown upon that sort of behavior, after all.

"Aren't you going to finish your food?" Ron asked with a gesture at Harry's still mostly full plate.

Harry's stomach growled, reminding him that yes he was hungry and also, yes, he should eat and stop staring straight ahead like a lunatic. So he did, and ignored Tom for the rest of the meal. It would do the spirit good to be ignored or a bit, Harry thought.

ooOOooOOoo

~You know, you never did mention what happened to Quirrell after Voldemort managed to get his body back,~ Harry said conversationally, as though they weren't sneaking through the halls covered only by a thin, filmy layer of Invisibility Cloak.

~Oh, him? He's most probably dead. You'll want to head up these stairs, by the way,~ Tom said, and Harry obediently turned up the stairs that he'd been about to pass. ~I can't imagine that having Voldemort extracted from the back of his head did anything less than kill him.~

~That's awful!~ Harry exclaimed. ~Why... never mind. Because you're the Dark Lord, that's why.~ Harry rolled his eyes, then continued down the corridor that he'd never seen before. Eventually, he found himself face to face with a portrait of Barnabus the Barmy, and he stopped and stared at it. ~Found the portrait,~ Harry announced, rather triumphant. ~Now what?~

~Now, this is going to sound odd so please don't think that I'm mocking you, you need to pace walk the length of the hall three times thinking very strongly that you need to find the room where things are hidden.~ Tom snickered a bit as he said it, and Harry frowned.

~How am I supposed to take you seriously if you're snickering as you ask me to do something?~ he asked, even as he started to do it.

Tom didn't respond; Harry presumed it was because he wanted Harry to be concentrating on needing the room where things were hidden. Because that was a mouthful, really, for him to be concentrating on.

Just when Harry thought that Tom was, in fact, pulling his leg, a door materialized on the wall across from the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy. ~Huh, you weren't just messing with me,~ Harry muttered. ~Do I just go through the door?~

~Yes, Harry, you just go through the door. Just what did you think you were supposed to do with it? Look at it?~ Tom sneered.

~Having walked through so very many magical doors in my life, it really surprises you that I want some clarification on my goals here?~ Harry pointed out, even as he stepped through the door.

And into chaos. "Bloody hell," he breathed, staring at the crowded, cluttered room. There was all sorts of old junk in there. Old and broken furniture littered the floor, cracked potions bottles settled on shelves that leaned to the left or the right, old school books torn in half scattered throughout the room. It was a haphazard pile of junk was what it was. "There's something of worth in here?" Harry asked, dubious.

~There's something of quite a lot of worth in here. Or rather, there is something in here that would have been of worth had I not defiled it in my misspent youth. As it stands, it's still valuable, just a touch more dangerous than perhaps it would have been.~

Harry grew suspicious. ~Is this another piece of your soul that you just left lying about? Because I've already told you what I thought of that idea,~ Harry said rather disapprovingly.

~And I've already told you that, if I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn't do it again. It was a mistake; I absolutely agree. But what's done is done. There isn't anything I can do to change what I did in the past,~ Tom murmured. ~Time Turners aren't made to be used like that.~

~I know that you can't go back and change it,~ Harry grumbled, exasperated. They'd had this conversation when Harry had first learned of the horcruxes, and Harry knew that there was nothing to be done to change the past. It was the past, it couldn't be changed. All he wanted was for Tom to acknowledge that he'd been wrong to split his soul in the first place. Which Tom had. Therefore, there was nothing more for them to argue about.

~Then why in Merlin's name are we still having this discussion?~ Tom exploded.

~Because you haven't told me where to find the diadem, yet?~ Harry suggested, sounding as cute as he could.

~You.. argh!~ Tom shouted, then settled in. ~You'll find the diadem in a trunk, just under the statue right over there,~ Tom said. Harry had the disconcerting feeling of Tom nodding his head in a certain direction, even though Tom wasn't in control of his body. It was a dizzying feeling, and Harry shook it off rapidly.

When he found the item in question, Harry was distinctly unimpressed. "Are you kidding me?" he asked aloud of the dented and tarnished piece of metal. It wasn't as though there was anybody in the room with them to hear him anyway.

~That object is priceless, Mr. Potter. It was said to increase the wearer's wisdom, and was created by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. It was lost for centuries before I charmed the secrets out of Ravenclaw's own house ghost, who happens to be Rowena's daughter, the Grey Lady,~ Tom said, sounding insufferably smug.

Harry rolled his eyes. ~That's nice,~ he sent back, and picked the thing up gingerly with dragon-hide gloves covering his hands. He placed it in the case Voldemort had apparently designed specially for the diadem as it fit in the snugly in the velvet within, closed and latched the case, then slipped the case into the small bag covered in protective charms that Voldemort, again, must have designed specifically for the task.

~So, one down. Now we just have to go drop it off in the Chamber of Secrets, which sounds terribly ominous I might add, and then we figure out our targets for the year, and then, maybe tomorrow or sometime soon, we check the warding on the Headmaster's office?~ Harry had been feeling accomplished with managing to get the diadem on the first night, but as his list got longer once he'd begun, his enthusiasm waned. Still so much to do, and there were Quidditch tryouts to worry about, and school. He had no doubt that Professor Snape's warning about letting Tom do his work for him still stood.

~I had a thought about choosing our victims,~ Tom answered. ~Step back out of the room, and we'll try an experiment.~

"Because that doesn't sound at all ominous," Harry muttered, but did as he was asked. He drew his Cloak around himself once more, stepped out of the room, then waited for further instruction.

~Now, we'll do the same exact steps to get into the room,~ Tom began once the door had faded back into the wall, ~but this time you're going to think of needing to know which students in the school are Muggle-born. What do you think?~

~I think it's as good a way as any to find out which ones are which,~ Harry answered immediately. It was the best way they'd thought of yet, at least. The only other thing that Harry had been able to think of was breaking into the Headmaster's office and taking a look at the Book while they were looking for the parseltongue book that Voldemort wanted. That was an unappealing option for two reasons: first, that would have meant that they would need to sneak in far earlier than they were planning to try; second, that would give them a far smaller chance of getting in and out without being caught. Looking through the Book would mean staying in the office for far longer. If this worked, it would be an infinitely more appealing option.

It worked, thankfully. When Harry opened the door to the Room of Requirement the second time, it opened to a mostly empty large room with a single pedestal in the middle. On that pedestal was a large, dusty in appearance old book that, when Harry approached it, appeared to be flipped to the middle of the book. Harry stepped forward and smiled.

It was a copy of Hogwarts' own attendance book, the same one that Harry would have used had he snuck into the Headmaster's office to do this very thing. It listed the names of every student currently enrolled within Hogwarts, as well as, in the margins, whether they were Muggle-born, halfblooded, or pureblooded.

"So," Harry began, "any preference on which five Muggle-born students we petrify this year? Because I don't think I know any of them." Harry studied the list and realized that, no, he really didn't know any of them. Which was likely a good thing, because that meant this should be very difficult to connect to himself. And, of course, it meant that he would feel infinitely less guilty about petrifying strangers.

~Unless, of course, you're already suspected of wrongdoing. Which you are, by the Headmaster. So we might, in the end, have to ensure that somebody takes the fall for this,~ Tom pointed out. When Harry scowled at the thought of framing an innocent person, Tom added, ~But we'll see. It might not be that necessary.~

~I hope it isn't. But seriously, any idea on who we should go for?~ Harry asked, plaintively. He didn't know who any of these people were, so which ones should he take on? None of them meant anything to him.

~We should start with... hmm... the name Hermione Granger rings a bell. I think we have Potions with her. She's as good a place as any to start,~ Tom suggested.

Harry nodded, and made a mental note. He wouldn't be stupid enough to write any of this down, but he would be sure to remember. And if, for whatever reason, he forgot who they were choosing, he was almost certain that Tom would remind him.

ooOOooOOoo

In the end, their list was rather simple to make. Tom suggested they just choose a random person from a different year at Hogwarts. They wound up with Hermione Granger as the first victim; Serena Powell, a third-year Hufflepuff, as the second; Martin Anderson, a fourth-year Gryffindor, as the third; Anna Traegar, a fifth-year Slytherin, as the fourth; and Garrett Farland, a sixth year Ravenclaw, as their fifth and final victim. Harry just hoped that they could pull it off.

~We will. By the way, you'll want to duck into that lavatory there if you want to go to the Chamber tonight,~ Tom suggested.

Harry did what he'd been asked to do, then froze. He studied the lavatory suspiciously then asked, ~Tom, is this a girl's lavatory?~

~I... I am not answering that question,~ Tom shot back. The embarrassment coloring his voice and bleeding over into Harry's own emotions was enough to answer the question.

Harry could feel his cheeks heating, and he fought the urge to flee the bathroom. ~Tom?~ Harry asked weakly.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked, sounding as though he already knew the question that Harry was going to ask. Knowing Tom, he probably did.

~What were you doing in a girl's lavatory that you discovered the Chamber of Secrets?~ Harry asked, innocently.

Tom growled at him and said, ~If you would like to quit making fun of me, your next move is to find the tap with the snake engraved upon it. And no, since you were just making fun of me, I won't tell you which one that is,~ he said sulkily.

Harry rolled his eyes. ~Whatever, Tom,~ he sang back. It wasn't like this would be a difficult task to complete, after all. It only took him a moment, and then he was staring at the snake on the tap. ~What now?~

~Now? Now you simply command the tap to open,~ Tom answered. Harry could hear the laughter in his voice and it made him cringe.

~This is going to squirt water out at me or something, isn't it?~ he asked warily, even as he followed Tom's instructions. If it was, he might as well get it over with.

~No, not at all,~ Tom said cheerfully. Sure enough, the sink simply moved into the wall, revealing a dark and gloomy looking opening.

"Who's there?" came a girl's voice, sounding frightened. Harry froze. "Who is that?" the girl asked once more, and Harry fought not to react as a young ghost floated through one of the stall doors. When she didn't see anybody, the ghost went back into her stall and began to cry softly.

~Ahh, Myrtle,~ Tom said fondly. ~My very first victim. Even if she was an accident.~ The Dark Lord let out a small sigh of wistful remembrance.

~Are you waxing nostalgic over a murder victim?~ Harry asked, incredulous. ~An accidental one at that, even.~

~I'm not going to answer that. You wouldn't be asking if you hadn't felt it, anyway,~ Tom muttered. ~Are you ready to see one of Hogwarts' greatest mysteries, or no?~ the spirit added, peevishly.

~Oh, don't you be cranky with me,~ Harry shot back. ~I'm not the idiot who attacked a baby based on the word of some Seer and got myself trapped in the body of the child in question. And yes, fine, I'm ready. Let's do this.~

~All you have to do is step forward into that dark entrance,~ Tom said quietly, calmly, as though Harry hadn't just been poking fun at him. ~And make sure that you concentrate on the fact that there's a sort of elevator there, or you'll just fall straight through. It's like the entrance to the Platform on the way to Hogwarts; if you believe it isn't there, you won't be able to get through.~

~Okay,~ Harry said. He concentrated very hard on stepping on something solid, took a single step into the entrance to the chamber, and fell straight through.

He shrieked rather in a rather undignified manner for several moments as he fell until he landed in a disgusting pile of things he would rather not know about. "You... you..." he sputtered incoherently.

Tom was howling with laughter in his head. ~You fell for it, you silly little child! Oh, you're just the most adorable thing I've ever seen, do you know that?~

Harry could feel Tom's amusement and Harry was entirely unamused by it. He stood up and brushed off his robes, then stalked off down the corridor in the only direction he could. "Just you wait; I will find a way to get you back for this."

~Harry, I'm a spirit trapped within your head. What in the world could you possibly do to me?~ Tom asked, still chuckling.

"Make sure that my Quidditch game are played as roughly and wildly as possible when I make it onto the team," Harry said promptly.

Tom abruptly stopped laughing. ~Harry, I do get motion sickness you know,~ the spirit said warningly. ~I can make it very difficult for you to focus on finding the Snitch, assuming you make it onto the team as Seeker.~

"It's adorable that you think there's any chance of me not making the team," Harry said cheerfully, not acknowledging the threat of motion sickness. "By the way, what exactly is down here that's going to petrify students?"

~A basilisk.~

Harry froze at Tom's succinct answer. "A... a basilisk?" he asked uncertainly. He stared warily into the cavern he'd just entered, wondering if a basilisk was going to leap out at him the moment he blinked. There were certainly quite a few possible places for a basilisk to hide in.

~Mmm, yes, Saliss is a basilisk. He's really quite friendly, so long as you don't actually do anything to antagonize him. Like most snakes, he can be quite testy. The only difference between him and regular snakes being, of course, that he can kill you within seconds.~

"Tom, you didn't think that maybe I needed to know about this before coming down here? So that I could, oh, I don't know, maybe be prepared?" Harry asked. He could feel himself becoming more and more irritated, and fought it down. Unfortunately, the irritation was a good distraction from his fear, so he stopped trying to get rid of it.

~Why? He's quite harmless, really. And he isn't even out right now. You don't necessarily have to go introduce yourself tonight if you don't want to,~ Tom said. ~Let's just leave the diadem down here, and head back to the dormitory. It's getting late, anyway.~

"And I have classes in the morning," Harry said, relaxing. Meeting a basilisk? No, no, he really wasn't up to that right about them.

~You do. And you're right, that's something I should have warned you about. Why don't you set the diadem down right at the foot of that statue there? When you call for him, that's where Saliss will come from.~

Harry placed the diadem in its protective case at the base of the statue, then retraced his steps back to the hallway he'd come from. He made it back to the end of the hallway, then stared in consternation at the speck of light hundreds of feet above him.

"Tom," he asked after several moments of consideration, "just how do you intend for me to get back up there?"

And Tom, the sneaky little bastard, started to laugh once more.

ooOOooOOoo

In the end, it took Harry a little over an hour to make his way back to the dormitory that night. Tom had, apparently, genuinely forgotten the way out of the Chamber and Harry had to let him take over while he tried various and assorted parseltongue passwords. It took the better part of forty-five minutes, until finally a sort of invisible elevator, just like the one Tom had said would be there in the first place, began to float Harry up the piping.

After that it should have only been a matter of returning to the dormitory and getting some sleep. Unfortunately, the ghost that had been there earlier had apparently been freaking out, and had overflowed the toilets badly enough that Filch was outside the bathroom sponging up the mess. Fortunately, he'd been almost done and Harry was able to slip out when the grumbling caretaker left the area. After that, he'd nearly knocked down Professor McGonagall, who was no doubt finally making her way to her rooms from her office, though what she'd been doing there so late at night was anybody's guess.

When Harry did finally make it back to the dorms, he was ready for the night to be over. He was tired, he was cranky, and he knew that eight o'clock in the morning was going to come very early, considering that it was now past one. So he crept up to his dormitory, stashed his Cloak back in his trunk, and crawled into his bed.

"So, Harry, what were you up to this evening?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry froze. What should he tell him? The options were endless. Finally, he settled on the truth. "I was finding the Chamber of Secrets," he murmured. When there was no reaction from the slumbering boys around him, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't thought of the fact that one of the others might still be awake until he'd already begun to say the name.

~Idiot child,~ Tom said, but it was spoken fondly. ~I could have _Obliviated_ them if the need had arisen,~ Tom added thoughtfully, ~so it wouldn't have been a total disaster.~

"The Cha... you found it? And what were you doing down there?" Draco breathed, surprised.

~Tom, is it safe to talk about these things in the dorms?~ Harry asked, suddenly alarmed. If the Headmaster had a way to spy on them while they were in the dormitories, then he should be very careful about what he said. If the Headmaster could spy on them, in fact, he'd already said far too much.

~It's fine. If you'd bothered to read _Hogwarts: A History_ like I'd recommended, you would know that there are wards that not even the Headmaster can counteract within the dormitories to keep Professors from invading their students privacy.~

Harry let out a small breath of relief. "There's a basilisk down there, apparently. I'm fulfilling a task from our Lord," Harry murmured.

"You... what sort of task are you completing with a basilisk?" Draco whispered back, sounding overawed at the thought.

"I... he has plans, that he doesn't want the Headmaster to be focussing on. So I'm to keep him occupied by petrifying five students over the course of the year. I've already got my five chosen; I figure I'll take the first one either at Halloween or a little before." Harry felt uncomfortable discussing this much around the sleeping boys in the dormitory, but they were all asleep. And Tom was right; they could _Obliviate_ anybody who became a problem.

"That sounds... like fun," Draco whispered, and then he yawned. "Now that you're back, though, I need to sleep for classes tomorrow. Let me know if you need help?" he offered sleepily.

"Absolutely," Harry promised. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face. Draco was the best friend he'd ever had. Who else would offer to help him petrify students?

ooOOooOOoo

Ron waited until Harry and Draco had been silent for several moments before he got up to use the bathroom. He'd overheard... what Harry was going to do was...

He should go to the Headmaster. He should tell the Headmaster exactly what Harry was going to do, what Harry had said about 'his Lord', he should... he should...

He made it all the way to the entrance to the common room before he turned and made his way back to the dorms. He couldn't do it. Harry and Draco were his friends. Sure, he felt bad for the students Harry was going to target, but he couldn't... he couldn't sacrifice the only two people that actually cared about him for kids that he didn't even really know.

After all, it wasn't like his own parents cared about him any longer. And Dumbledore certainly didn't. So why should he help them?

No, Ron would keep his mouth shut. And if Harry wound up needing it, he would gladly offer Harry his help. Because Harry was his friend, and he knew Harry well enough to know that if it ever came up, Harry would not just throw him away like a lamb to the slaughter. Harry had more honor than that.

* * *

**A/N: Can I just say thank you all, again, for being awesome readers and reviewers and followers? You guys make my day. Seriously. Also, just a quick question, anybody reading fans of Dragon Age 2? I only ask because my other chaptered project is an HP/DA2 crossover.**


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Sixteen-

As Harry had suspected, class with Lockhart was a joke. He'd known it would be, of course it would be. One had only to look at the smarmy blond little git to know how ridiculous any class of his would be. He'd almost been expecting the entirely unrelated to Defense test on the ridiculous books that the entire school had been assigned to purchase. What sort of person, other than an entirely too narcissistic bastard, would demand that their entire bibliography of books be purchased for just one year of schooling? Of course there would be some stupid test on the bastard's likes and dislikes, and Harry made sure to write his answers down in the most insulting manner possible. Some, so long as he could score a nice insult with it, he deliberately answered wrong. After all, this class wouldn't actually start to matter until he took his OWLs, and he already knew most of it anyway. But what truly surprised Harry, what Harry hadn't counted on and could never have suspected, could never have dreamed up in his worst nightmares, were the pixies.

Of all the things to set loose on a group of second year students, Lockhart had chosen pixies? They were tiny little things, and mildly annoying, but Harry wouldn't have classified them as a particularly Dark Art that they needed defending against.

And, judging by the way that Tom had snickered when he'd seen what the bloody git had decided to demonstrate for the first class, Tom agreed. ~Oh, Harry, you should absolutely let me out,~ Tom begged. ~I'll protect the class from the deadly dangers of pixies,~ he added, but spoiled it by cackling in the middle.

~Yeah, somehow I'm thinking not,~ Harry shot back. Tom, fighting pixies? No, Harry really didn't want pixie guts all over his new robes. And Draco would be horrified.

Of course, that was before the smarmy blond bastard decided to let the things out among the students. Then everything changed, and Tom rapidly had to keep Harry from losing his temper and just cursing the little buggers into oblivion. Because Harry could. He knew proper Dark magic for that sort of thing. That he shouldn't be alluding to knowing that while still a student at Hogwarts was another matter entirely. And suddenly pixie guts everywhere sounded absolutely amazing.

In the end, to avoid blowing up the nasty little shits that were currently wreaking havoc in the room, Harry was forced to follow the lead of his classmates and duck under the desks, where he and Ron and Draco shared pained looks. This was going to be a ridiculous year; he could already tell.

"Don't worry, class, I've got this well in hand!" Professor Lockhart called as they all cowered under their desks. "_Peskipiski Pesternomi!_" the obnoxious twit shouted. Then they could all hear him start shrieking in surprise. Even Pansy, who had begun the class so admiring of Lockhart and was now under the table just next to their own so Harry could get a clear glimpse of her face, looked entirely disgusted with herself for falling for the smarmy blond's charisma.

"Witness my surprise," Harry muttered, as the spell proceeded to do a whole lot of nothing against the sneaky little buggers that were currently streaking about the room.

Ron snorted, then asked, "But how are we going to get out of here? I don't think that Professor Snape will let us off for being late and take pixies as an excuse."

"Watch and learn, Ron," Draco said, and there was just a hint of fondness in his voice that made Harry smile. He'd known that Draco was growing fond of Ron, but to hear it like that just made Harry happy in a way he simply couldn't explain.

"_Immobulus!_" Draco shouted, waving his wand with a peculiar flick and swish. The pixies froze in midair and then dropped to the ground with several small thumps as their bodies hit the floor.

It wasn't nearly as entertaining as blowing the little snots to smithereens, and Harry supposed that was why he hadn't thought of it himself. ~You're a bad influence on me, Tom,~ Harry said fondly.

~What? You can't blame that on me! I didn't even do anything!~ Tom protested, still chortling with laughter. It warmed Harry's heart to hear the Dark Lord so amused, and sort of made him hope that he'd be able to manage the same for the walking, talking, breathing version of the Dark Lord.

Professor Lockhart dusted off his robes and regained his footing, trying for all the world to look as though the pixies hadn't just had him up in the air by his robes. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy," the Professor said cheerfully. "Of course I knew the way to stop the little cretins, I was just testing to see if any of you did. Well, go on, gather your things! I wouldn't want any of you to be late for your next class!" the Professor chirped.

As he stood up to gather his things, Harry couldn't help but wonder just how long Lockhart would last before somebody fed him to his devilish little pixies. Or, wonder if he could maybe feed the Professor to the basilisk. ~Tom?~ he asked hopefully.

~I won't deny that the idea has merit, but I would imagine that my embodied self might have an issue with it. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask him, though, would it?~ Tom mused.

Harry couldn't help but smile at the image of dear Professor Lockhart being crunched in half by a fifty foot basilisk. For some reason the image was oddly appealing. He could live with that.

ooOOooOOoo

It wasn't often that Harry was nervous. But here he stood, surrounded by others just as nervous as he was, waiting for the tryouts to begin. It was a unique experience, being surrounded by other people and being every bit as nervous as they were. Tom generally helped him to keep his head, but now Tom was too busy laughing at him to do so.

~You know, you could be more helpful than this,~ Harry pointed out, trying manfully not to scowl. Although he'd acquired something of a reputation over the previous school year as one who stared off into space and scowled at nothing, he didn't necessarily want that reputation to stick. It wasn't the most impressive reputation to be stuck with, after all. Although there certainly was something to be said for being thought of as mad as a hatter. One had only to look towards the Lovegood family for a perfect example.

~Oh, yes, I could absolutely be more helpful than this with my incredibly elite flying skills,~ Tom muttered. He had seemed less than impressed with the very idea of Harry taking on a spot on the Quidditch team before tryouts, the matter had in fact caused one of their first real fights; now he seemed positively disdainful.

It might have something to do with his own severe lack of flying ability, something which Harry didn't hesitate to tell the Dark Lord in question. Tom fell absolutely silent after Harry pointed that out, so much so that Harry could no longer feel any emotion from him at all. He refrained from giving himself a mental point in an effort to spare Tom his dignity. What little of it remained, that was to say.

Fortunately, the Chasers were finishing their tryouts, which mean that it would shortly be Harry's turn. Which meant that ideally he could stop being nervous once he was up in the air. He was up against three others, none of whom were on the current team. None of whom he'd ever seen fly, either, so he couldn't say how well he'd do when up against them. But Ron had already secured a spot as reserve Keeper and from the way that Draco had flown, Harry was almost positive that he'd get a spot on the team as well. Which meant that if Harry didn't manage to secure a spot, he'd be the only member of their group that didn't. It would be an embarrassment.

"You'll do fine," Ron said suddenly, exasperatedly. Harry turned to him, frowning, and Ron continued with, "Seriously, I can hear you knotting yourself up over this. You don't have to; you'll do the best out of all of these other guys." He seemed entirely unbothered by the dirty looks from the three others trying out for the team.

"Of course I'll do fine. I'm more concerned with Professor Snape's homework assignment," Harry said with a forced cheer that he definitely didn't feel. "Two feet on the properties of ashwinder eggs? I don't know where I'm going to pull that from!"

"Oh, don't you give me that shite! You and Draco probably both already have the assignment done! Me, on the other hand, I'm not some kind of potions master in the making, so I've got no idea what I'm going to write for that bloody paper." Ron was scowling at the reminder, and Harry couldn't help but smile, and this time he even meant it.

"You forgot all about it, didn't you?" he asked, his grin widening. "And we just got the assignment earlier today, Ron! We should get you a planner or something."

"He would have to remember to write the assignment in question down for that to do any good," Draco shot back, startling both Harry and Ron, who hadn't realized he'd landed. "I made the team, not that you two hooligans care," he added with a haughty sniff.

Harry's grin broadened. "That's great!" he exclaimed. He flung his arms around Draco before he could think about it.

~Harry!~ Tom protested. ~You don't... you don't just go and... and hug a pureblooded heir like Draco! In fact, you shouldn't be doing that at all, being the Potter Lord!~

~Oops?~ Harry asked sheepishly. Draco was stiff and unresponsive in his arms, and Harry pulled away rather hastily with a muttered, "Sorry." ~At least it should reinforce the idea that I don't know all that much about pureblooded customs,~ Harry added to Tom, though he knew better than to try and pass that off as intentional. It definitely hadn't been.

But Draco said nothing in response, and Harry felt a moment's apprehension that he'd done something else unforgivable, on top of knowing about Lucius and wanting to murder the man for what he put Draco through.

"How come I didn't get a hug when I made the team?" Ron protested, though when Harry darted a glance at the redhead he seemed more amused than offended.

"Because you didn't actually make the team, you just made reserve," Draco answered coolly. "And don't worry about it, Harry, just don't make a habit of it." Despite his dismissive words, Harry could see that Draco was less than comfortable with the thought of Harry hugging him.

Fortunately, Seekers were called to tryout next. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and thanked Merlin that he could escape from the awkward situation at hand, and take to the air. He mounted his birthday present from Draco, a Nimbus 2001, and took off with the rest of the Seekers. The tryout was simple enough. Whoever caught the Snitch first would have the best chance at joining the team. If one of the other potential Seekers was a better flyer, though, that would be taken into account. Harry supposed that it could be the case that one of the other students was a better flyer than himself but, well, he didn't think that was going to be the case.

~Careful, child. Arrogance is the downfall of many a man,~ Tom warned.

Harry fought down a sudden, sharp laugh. ~Oh, yeah, that's great. You lecturing me on arrogance.~

As he bickered somewhat good-naturedly with the spirit inside his mind, Harry constantly scanned the skies for the flash of gold that would indicate the Snitch. There was a flash of something, just out of the corner of his eye, but it wasn't quite the right shade. He turned his head just in case, and saw something again, not quite right, down near the ground.

One of the other competitors, one Marius Farsein, was not so intelligent. He flung himself rather desperately after the not-quite-a-Snitch in desperation, and wound up crashing into the ground at a rather swift speed. Harry cringed because even from his rather lofty height, he could hear the boy's bones snapping.

Tom cringed within his mind as well. ~And you wonder why it is that I don't like Quidditch,~ the spirit grumbled.

Harry ignored the voice, then scowled as a flash of metal caught his gaze. Metal that was distinctly iron in color, rather than the gold of the Snitch. ~They didn't warn us that they were going to release the Bludgers,~ he complained, and ducked as one came barrelling towards him. He could hear the two remaining competitors crying foul over the move, but Harry didn't have time to protest the unexpected move.

He'd spotted the Snitch. It was a small flash of gold just behind the team captain, Marcus Flint. Harry started moving towards it, trying to look as casual as he could. When a Bludger streaked towards him, Harry was forced to duck into a dive, alerting the other two Seekers above him to his movements.

One of the other two competitors was not quite lucky enough to dodge the Bludger that Harry had left in his wake, and as such was knocked from their broom at a rather alarming height. Harry winced in sympathy, but then the Snitch darted right into his hand and he pulled up just inches before his broom would have lodged itself in the ground, and a mere hairsbreadth away from barrelling the Captain over.

"Sorry," he offered to the startled Captain, and held out the Snitch.

When Flint recovered enough from the surprise of having one of the competitors stop less than an inch away from him, he said immediately, "Practices are on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday mornings. You report for each and every one or we kick you off the team."

Later, after dinner while they were sitting in their dorm room studying on their beds, Ron said quietly, "That was a really dangerous move, Harry."

"Was it?" Harry asked, not particularly interested. He'd known he could pull it off. He was good at flying, even Tom thought so. When Tom wasn't busy getting motion sickness, that was to say.

"Wronski feints are particularly dangerous. What if you hadn't pulled up in time?" Draco asked, sounding as though he agreed with Ron. This was rare enough that Harry felt almost obligated to actually listen to what they were saying, no matter how little he agreed with it.

"But I did pull up in time," Harry protested. He hadn't even realized there was a name for the maneuver he'd used during practice. Perhaps he should look into investing in a Quidditch strategy book if he were planning on taking the game seriously?

"But if you hadn't you might've injured both yourself and Flint," Ron said patiently. "It's not that the move was a bad idea; it wasn't, it got you on the team after all. But we're just saying that maybe you should be a little bit more careful when you're haring off after the Snitch."

Harry let out a small sigh and hauled Minerva onto his lap. "I guess I can see your point," he muttered as he nervously began to fiddle with her fur. Ron was right, of course. The move he'd pulled had been a dangerous one, but it had worked, hadn't it? And it wasn't like he'd taken the time to think about it. He'd seen the Snitch and gone after it, and he'd gotten it, hadn't he?

~But that's what Ron is saying. And for the record, but I agree with the Weasley boy. If you want to play this game, if you want to not knock yourself into a coma and disappoint my living self, then you need to make sure you're a bit more careful when you're playing,~ Tom murmured gently to him. Then, in a quiet aside that he probably hadn't intended for Harry to hear, ~Merlin, what is the world coming to when I'm agreeing with a Weasley of all people?~

Harry couldn't help but feel like a little child being chastised by an adult for something stupid. He especially didn't like that Ron and Draco both agreed with the spirit in his head. So, like the child that he could sometimes be, Harry closed the curtains on his bed and pretended like none of them existed until he fell asleep, still clutching at Minerva.

ooOOooOOoo

The next day was a Sunday, and Harry made sure to be up and out of the room before either Ron or Draco had normally even begun to dream their last dream. He didn't want to rehash the conversation that they'd had last night, not that he thought they were going to be particularly annoying about it. It was just better to avoid the matter entirely.

He ate a swift breakfast and hung around the Great Hall until he spotted one Hermione Granger, target number one. She was thin and had bushy hair and buck teeth that made Harry wince. She'd have been torn apart within Slytherin, and not just for the state of her blood. In Gryffindor, from what he knew of the other student, she was mostly ignored. Well, she wouldn't be after Harry was through with her. Everyone in the school would most likely know her name. Of course, she wouldn't be conscious for it.

He left the Great Hall, pulled his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket, and slipped it on. When another group of students entered the Great Hall once more, Harry slipped in behind them and walked over to observe the girl in question. If he wanted to catch her with the basilisk, and hopefully have nobody else see the snake, he would have to get her alone. Which mean that he would need her routine down.

~Please, Harry, a girl like this? She'll spend all of her time in the library. The best time to catch her will undoubtedly be during her walk to or from the library early in the morning or late at night.~

~Yes,~ Harry agreed patiently, ~But what time do those things occur? We know now that she gets up even on Sundays at about eight o'clock in the morning, but where does she go from there? What time does she take her lunch break? Does she even eat lunch, or does she study through? These are things that I need to know before I can sick Saliss on her.~

~Well if you're going to be all formal about it...~ Tom trailed off and they watched Hermione eat in silence for a moment or two. Then, quietly, ~I'm sorry for nagging you last night,~ Tom murmured. ~I just... Draco and Ron were right, and you were so very cavalier at the thought that you could have seriously been injured that I couldn't keep silent. Perhaps I should have been a bit kinder about what I had to say, but you... you're too young to be getting yourself injured permanently in a Quidditch accident. Or, you know, killed.~

Harry let out a soundless sigh. ~I know, Tom,~ he said quietly. ~I agree. You're right. We don't need to keep talking about it.~ He fought down his remaining irritation on the matter. Tom was right. Harry knew that to be the case. It didn't matter how much he resented the facts; they were still the facts and he couldn't change them. He'd been needlessly reckless.

~Sorry,~ Tom muttered, sounding offended. ~You know that we're just concerned about you,~ Tom added after a moment of silence. By now Hermione had finished her toast and moved on to sipping at her drink, whatever it was. Harry wasn't really all that interested in what the girl was drinking.

~Concerned about what?~ Harry exploded. ~I've been flying for almost a full year now, what's there to be concerned about? Did you or did you not see the way that I flew circles around Draco over the summer? Did I ever give you the idea that I might even be close to crashing? No. No, I didn't. And why not? Because I'm a bloody good flyer, that's why.~ Harry had no idea where all of this anger was coming from, but once he'd given it voice it was like he couldn't stop. He felt out of control, like a train coming off the tracks, and he didn't like that feeling at all.

And then the feeling vanished, disappeared as though it had never been, leaving him panting for breath and shaking violently. ~Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry,~ Tom whispered, sounding horrified. Harry could feel his regret, his concern, his horror just like he could feel his own.

~Tell me those weren't your emotions I was feeling,~ Harry begged, knowing that Tom couldn't tell him that without lying. ~Merlin, is that how angry you are all the time?~

~It isn't... it isn't as bad as it used to be,~ Tom said, apologetic. Harry could feel him settling down a bit, and now that he realized what it was he could feel Tom's anger simmering just below the surface of the other's mind. It was an unnerving feeling, to say the least.

~You... god, Tom, what do you have to be so angry about all the time?~ Harry asked. Hermione stood up, then, and left the Great Hall. Harry followed behind her, sure enough, right to the library. Once she'd settled in, he leaned against the wall in an out of the way corner and watched her from a distance.

~I don't... it's none of your business what I'm so angry about most of the time,~ Tom shot back, more venomous than Harry thought he'd ever heard from the Dark Lord.

~Because that wasn't suspicious at all,~ Harry said. Now that Tom's anger wasn't influencing him he could see how very irrational he'd been last night and this morning. He'd have to be sure to apologize to both Ron and Draco for his deplorable behavior. ~Seriously, Tom, what's got you so upset?~

Tom was stubbornly silent. Harry could feel his irritation and anger building, and Harry was growing more and more curious. He probably shouldn't push the spirit, but...

~Seriously, Tom, what's got you angry enough to influence my moods unintentionally?~ Harry asked, exasperated. He'd never felt Tom's rage like that before. Other emotions, sure, but they'd never made him feel them as though they were his own. That was a concerning sort of thing to have had happen.

~I'm dying, Harry! As you so eloquently pointed out to me the other day, I'm dying! Soon enough, probably before your fourth year at Hogwarts if things go the way they've been, I'll cease to exist. My consciousness will merge with your own! And my lover, my Severus, he's with another version of me and he's happy and I'm glad that he's so happy and I'm glad that there's still going to be a piece of me on this earth but it won't be me, Harry! It won't be me. I won't...~ Tom trailed off into silence.

Harry's eyes closed in horror. ~Tom, I didn't... I mean, I-~

~Stop.~ Tom's voice was quite dead as he said, ~I know what you meant. I don't really want to talk about it right now, Harry. Why don't you look into what the Granger girl is researching? It'll keep our minds off of me... me dying.~

Harry wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't think of anything to say. So he did as Tom requested and went over to stand over Hermione's shoulder, studying her research. He wasn't sure what he expected. After all, they were just starting the second week of school and none of their teachers had assigned them projects just yet, so he wasn't entirely certain what it was that she was researching. But he didn't get what he found.

~Tom?~ Harry asked, after studying the girl's notes for a few moments. Her quill was moving rapidly, constantly adding new information to her notes, and Harry still couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked, sounding just as distracted. Granger was flipping through her books at a speed the likes of which Harry couldn't come close to topping, seeking out information on what appeared to be the Killing Curse.

~Is she writing a theoretical counter curse for the Killing Curse?~ Harry asked weakly.

~That is indeed what it appears to be,~ Tom said agreeably. ~It won't work, of course, she's got a fundamental fact wrong, but that's still... that's still closer than I think I've ever seen somebody get before. That's... impressive.~

~Tom?~ Harry asked, staring in fascination at Granger's quill and her hands flipping rapidly through the books in question.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked patiently.

~I think we need to revisit the idea that Muggleborns are defective just by virtue of their circumstances of birth,~ Harry said bluntly. ~Do you think that maybe we could discuss that with the version of you that's walking around and assigning me to tasks?~

~I think that if we were going to, we would do well to have that conversation in person where he can't simply tear up our letter. And where there's a lot of hard cover, so that he can't just throw the Killing Curse off at us. Although I don't think he'll kill us, what with you carrying a piece of his soul,~ Tom said thoughtfully.

~So maybe I should wait until Christmas break to discuss this with him?~ Harry asked. ~Then maybe I'll move on to a different victim. Who hopefully won't be quite as bright as Ms. Granger here.~

~That's not a bad idea,~ Tom said calmly. ~So, why don't we go and visit Saliss with our unexpected free time?~ he added, sounding a bit more cheerful at the thought.

And how could Harry deny him? Not after the conversation they'd just had, that was certain. So he headed back to the girl's bathroom and hoped that it was empty enough for him to open the door to the Chamber of Secrets once more. ~Seriously, there isn't a second entrance?~ he asked plaintively as he slipped from the library.

Tom laughed at him, the bastard.

ooOOooOOoo

Saliss, as it turned out, wasn't much of conversationalist. He was more concerned with Harry bringing him food and Harry letting him cause mischief and mayhem among the students sometime within the next century. Once Harry had promised to do so, Saliss was all about the when and the where and the why and the how and the how many to be most precise. Harry was amused, but only briefly. When the conversation started to get old, or more appropriately once he thought he could get away with it, he excused himself with a polite, "I'm sorry, but I've got friends to meet for dinner," before ducking out of the cavern.

~You could have warned me,~ Harry hissed as they rode the invisible elevator back up into Myrtle's bathroom. ~He's an absolute bore!~

~Yeah, but watching you suffer cheered me right up,~ Tom shot back, chuckling quietly.

Harry growled wordlessly and sealed the entrance to the Chamber behind him. Myrtle let out a despondent little moan at the sound of his growl, but Harry didn't actually care all that much. She was a ghost; she should realize that nothing out there could hurt her. That she didn't was, well, rather pathetic as it happened.

~My, my, somebody's in a rotten mood,~ Tom murmured as they made their way to the Slytherin common room. Harry hadn't even been lying to the basilisk; the snake had kept him trapped in conversation for a good seven hours. It had been torture. But it would indeed soon be time for dinner.

~You just had me held hostage by a snake, Tom. And really, people who allow their bad temper to bleed into their innocent host's mind shouldn't pick on him for being a little irritable.~

As Harry had suspected, his snarky comment caused Tom to fall entirely silent. Harry continued his trek towards the common room in blissful silence.

Just before entering the common room, Harry slipped into an unused classroom and out of his Invisibility Cloak. The Cloak was then shoved unceremoniously into his bag, and Harry continued on into the common room as though nothing had happened. Which, to everyone's mind, was indeed the case. Ron and Draco were both sitting in there, quietly studying for one of their classes, but they both stopped and looked up as he entered the room. In tandem, nonetheless.

"Where have you been?" Draco demanded, his voice hot with irritation. "You didn't wait for us for breakfast and you didn't even show up for lunch!"

"I had things to take care of," Harry said nonchalantly, staring into Draco's eyes. He hoped to communicate that he'd been working on one of his assigned tasks and it must have worked because Draco nodded once, sharply, and settled back into his chair.

Ron, on the other hand, clearly had no idea what Harry was talking about. "You had things to do, did you?" the redhead asked, clearly still angry. "And it has nothing to do with you being such a prat yesterday, right?"

Harry let out a small sigh. "Actually, it sort of did," Harry confessed, trying as hard as he could to look like a contrite schoolboy. It wasn't all that hard, considering that he really did regret the way he'd treated both Draco and Ron yesterday.

"Oh," was Ron's rather startled response.

"Listen, I really was a prat yesterday. I don't know what got into me. Can you forgive me?" Harry asked, with all sincerity. "I'm going to do my best not to let it happen again." And he would. Now that he knew what Tom's rage, what his fury, what his irritation felt like, Harry was hopeful that he'd be able to block those feelings should they leak in with his own once more. Hopeful, but not certain.

"No, it's fine," Ron said dismissively, waving one hand carelessly in the air. "It happens to all of us, I'm sure. I've no doubt that I'll say something to piss you all off at some point this year." Ron still looked rather uncertain, though, and Harry wondered what the redhead was thinking. It was too bad that Tom refused to teach him the art of legilimency. He claimed that Harry was too young for such knowledge or some such rot.

"Exploding snap, anyone?" Harry offered into the sudden somewhat awkward silence. Ron seized on it, and after a few moments even Draco was coerced into putting his book down and joining the game.

* * *

**A/N: Firstly, as always, thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, following, whatever you want to call it. It means so much to me that you all continue to do so.**

**But now, I've an important and somewhat unhappy announcement. I'm not writing quite as much as I'd like to be between school and work and homework and everything else under the sun. So, I've got to cut back to one update a week, at least until November is over. Once I've finished with November, and a personal project for NaNoWriMo, and I've regained the lead that I've got on my posting, I'll start posting twice a week once more. Or, you know, if I finish some of the other projects I've got going.**

**Again, I'm sorry to have to do this to you all, but I really feel as though continuing at the pace I've been going at will lead to a drop in quality, and you guys don't deserve that from me.**


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Seventeen

In his bed, late at night on a Wednesday evening early still in the school year, Harry tossed and turned and whimpered in his sleep. Tom, concerned, tried to wake the slumbering youth, but found that he could do nothing. He couldn't get through to Harry at all. Now truly worried, the spirit settled in to wait and see. What more could he do with no body to call his own?

ooOOooOOoo

_The man... no, the boy was beautiful. Harry didn't know where the thought came from, but he could agree that it was quite true. It was perhaps not a traditional beauty, the child's face was too severe for that. His nose was slightly crooked and his hair hung lank and unattended. But his face was mobile, expressive, and lit with joy as he practiced his craft. The boy in question stood at a cauldron in an unidentified potions lab, his robes swirling dramatically about himself as he added ingredients precisely and yet excitedly. He was clearly entirely focussed upon his work, his eyes bright with the joy of discovery._

_"You see, my Lord? Did I not tell you that he was brilliant?" an oily voice asked, and Harry recoiled from the sight of a much younger Lucius Malfoy. He, too, was watching the boy at the cauldron, his gaze every bit as hungry as Harry's... no, it wasn't Harry's, but Tom's... as Tom's gaze had been._

_Tom felt an instant flare of jealousy that Harry could feel quite clearly, unnervingly so. "You will not touch him," he commanded immediately. "He will be my own."_

_Harry knew that Tom had only just seen the boy for the first time, and Harry realized with a start that this boy must be a very young Professor Snape. He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, perhaps a bit older than that, but certainly not old enough for Tom to have such an interest in him. It was... it was criminal. But then, Harry supposed that a murdering Dark Lord probably didn't care all that much about having criminal interests._

_"Of course he will, my Lord," Lucius answered smoothly, with a low bow. "This is why I wished to present him to you. Is he not lovely? And a true genius, as well."_

_Professor Snape had stopped brewing now, and was watching them both through a curtain of black hair. His entire stance screamed 'wariness', and there was a tension that implied a readiness to flee at a moment's notice. When neither of them addressed him, he turned off the heat on his cauldron and began to pour the silvery potion into clear glass vials with an expert hand._

_"Leave us," Tom commanded abruptly, and Lucius bowed once more and left the room. "Severus Snape," Tom murmured, and stepped forward._

_Harry could tell that the boy was nervous because his hands were shaking. Some of the hot potion spilled onto his hands and Professor Snape dropped the vial he was holding with a startled little noise of pain. It shattered on the ground, and the Professor froze and stared at the Dark Lord as though expecting to be killed for such a mistake._

_"You should be more careful," Tom chastised. He stepped over the mess and took the Professor's hand in his own. He gently wiped the hand clean, then raised it to his lips and kissed the burnt bit of flesh. "Your skin is far too perfect to be marred by burns."_

_Professor Snape... no, Severus flushed violently. "My skin is hardly perfect, sir," he protested, though he did not remove his hand from the Dark Lord's gentle grasp. He then looked quite horrified at the thought of arguing with the Dark Lord. Harry could read the thought in his eyes, how had he dared?_

_"Please, dear one, call me Tom," the Dark Lord murmured. He pressed a kiss to that sinfully perfect hand once more, then drew back. "I'd like to offer you a proposition for you to think on, Severus Snape," he said, and the world swirled into nothing on the hopeful look on the Professor's face as well as the feelings of need and want and lust and possessiveness from Tom._

_When the world stabilized once more, it was raining and the sky was dark with thunderclouds. Severus stood before him, strong and brave and broken. "Won't you join me?" Harry asked, but it wasn't his voice that came out. It was Tom's. He wasn't used to this yet, even after the last scene._

_"My... Tom, I..." Severus bowed his head and looked away. "You call for such extreme measures, I can't... I don't... but I..."_

_"I understand. You love me, but you don't necessarily agree with everything that I aim for," Harry/Tom murmured, and their hand moved to touch Severus's cheek. It was wet, and not just with rainwater. Harry didn't know how he knew it, but he knew that Severus was crying._

_"Lily Evans is a Muggle-born, and she and I were friends," Severus whispered. "They aren't all bad." But Severus was leaning into the touch, his hand coming up to cling to Tom's own. Harry's own. Harry was a little lost with this. ~Tom?~ he asked hesitantly, but heard only silence. He wasn't surprised. He was relatively certain that he was trapped in the first of the visions._

_"Of course the Muggle-born aren't to be faulted for their blood," Tom whispered, stepping even closer. "But it's the Muggles that raise them that we should hate. Look at what happened to your dear mother. Your father, the monster, murdered her and still the abomination walks free."_

_"Don't tell me what I already know!" Severus shouted, then looked up, eyes wide with horror. "Please, Tom, I didn't mean," he stammered, eyes wild with grief._

_"Of course you didn't," Tom soothed. "I know what you meant. You're distraught. You cannot possibly make this choice now. But come home with me, at least, let me take care of you tonight." Harry could feel within the Dark Lord the need to protect, to soothe, to comfort, and realized that this relationship had to be what had enabled Tom to feel empathy towards him at all._

_When Severus nodded, the scene blurred and shifted and changed, until Harry/Tom were curled protectively around Severus's naked form, stroking his hair soothingly. The Professor couldn't be more than fifteen, and Harry was a little grossed out. This was his teacher! He wasn't meant to be seeing this nonsense. Not to mention, Ton was what? Fifty in this memory? That was... that was creepy. And illegal in the Muggle world at least. He wasn't sure about the wizarding law. Not that Tom had ever cared about wizarding law._

_"You promise that we aren't actually going to go for the Muggle-born?" Severus asked, his voice so young and so very haunted. He was clinging rather desperately to Tom, his whole body was trembling against their own. Harry wrinkled his nose at the feeling. Seriously, the man was his professor. He didn't want to remember this the next time he went to Potions class! Even if it was painfully sweet. If it hadn't been such an obviously private and tender memory, Harry would have been tempted to use it as ammo against Tom the next time the ex-Dark Lord was being uppity._

_"I promise that we won't for long. But there will have to be some element of that in order to keep the purebloods on board, at least in the beginning." Tom's voice was low, apologetic, and he pressed a warm, gentle kiss to Severus' bowed head. "I'm sorry that it will be necessary, but I can't see any other way to get the financial backing that we need." Harry was a little sickened, because he could feel the lie in Tom's statement. He had no intention of backing off on the Muggle-born issue, and was determined that he could convince Severus to see things his way. With this aspect of their relationship involved, he was probably right._

_"I suppose I don't have a choice, then," Severus whispered, and pressed a soft kiss to Tom's neck. "Promise me that you'll take care of me? That you won't leave me?"_

_"Of course, my Severus," Tom murmured. "You cannot begin to know the measures I've taken to make that very thing so." Tom rolled away from him, then, and knelt unashamedly naked beside the bed. He pulled out a box, simple in appearance and ornate in the magics used to guard it. From the box he pulled a locket, tarnished and old and yet beautiful nonetheless. Tom settled back into the bed and placed the locket around Severus' neck. "Guard this well for me, my love, for you guard myself along with it," he whispered._

_Severus bowed his head and murmured in response, "As you wish, my Lord."_

_The vision, for that was all that it could be, faded out and blurred at the same time, and then Harry was standing in a shoddy hovel, watching at Severus, still all of fifteen, held a brutal, vicious looking Muggle under the Cruciatus curse. His father, Harry realized, not knowing still where the information came from. Tom was there with him, one arm slung around Severus' waist, the other helping Severus to hold his wand up, and his chin resting on Severus' shoulder._

_The curse was released, and Severus fell back against Tom, panting for breath. "What now, my Lord?" he asked quietly, tilting his head back to stare adoringly into Tom's eyes._

_"Now, we complete the ritual. Kill him, my Severus. Any method you like. And we'll take the power in his death and mark you forever as my own." As Tom spoke, his lips brushed against Severus' cheek with every word._

_Severus bowed his head, closed his eyes, and eventually lifted his wand once more. "Sectumsempra," he murmured, and moved his wand in a series of movements that were by now quite familiar to Harry. He shivered as he watched the man, Severus' father, scream in new agony as cuts opened up on his chest and arms and legs._

_They watched for several moments, and then Severus quietly, calmly, whispered the words, "Avada Kedavra," and a bolt of green light sprang from his wand to strike his father in the chest._

_"Morsmordre!" Tom shouted at the exact moment that the green light of the Killing Curse struck Mr. Snape in the chest, his wand digging into the flesh of Severus' wand arm._

_Harry watched as the mark bloomed across Severus' arm, dark and dramatic against the pale backdrop of the Potion Master's skin. Severus himself let out a small cry of pain as he sagged further back against Tom, his knees refusing to bear his weight. But he did not fall. His other arm lifted to clutch at the locket now hanging around his neck and he bowed his head under the pain, but he did not fall._

_"My Severus," Tom murmured, approval warming his voice. Harry shuddered as he watched the two of them kiss once more, deep and desperate and loving, there in front of the Professor's father's corpse. It was a bit disturbing, that they would do that where a man had just died. But he could feel Tom's love, Tom's passion, Tom's need for the young man with him, and Harry felt that it was almost natural when things progressed far beyond kissing, not that he particularly wanted to see it._

_The dream world blurred once more, and now Harry found himself in a familiar room, the Dark Lord's sitting room within Malfoy Manor. He was reading, quietly, paging through what appeared to be a book on pureblood ancestry. There was something off about him, now, something wild and mad and frightening. Harry knew that this Tom had made his other horcruxes, not just the first two. It was obvious that quite a lot of time had passed since the last moment in dreamtime._

_The relative peace of the moment was shattered by a door clattering against the wall. A panicked Severus entered the sitting room, his breath coming rapidly, his eyes wide enough with horror that Harry could see the whites all the way around. He came forward, flung himself to his knees, bowed his head against Tom's own knee._

_Tom lowered his book, lifted his hand, and ran it gently through Severus' hair. "What on earth has you running into the room like a frightened dog?" he asked, a hint of disdain coloring his tone. "Have I not requested that you behave with decorum while in these halls?" he added, censure making his words harsh. His tone, however, was fondly amused, and his hand was still gentle in Severus' hair. Harry could feel the affection in Tom's every motion, and it took his breath away with... with something. Longing, maybe, to feel that way about another person? Or perhaps to have somebody feel that way about him, more likely._

_"My Lord, I apologize, but I..." Severus stopped speaking, abruptly, and took several deep breaths. "There was a prophecy spoken at the Hog's Head tonight. It was... I believe that it referred to you," Severus whispered, pressing his head further against Tom's knee as though trying to hide from the reality of the world. "It spoke of your downfall," Severus barely managed to breathe out, so horrified was he._

_"Hmm," Tom murmured, and placed a single finger under Severus' chin, forcing the slender Potion's Master to look up towards him and meet his eyes. Harry could feel his amusement, his love, his affection, and it took Harry's breath away once more. "You know very well how little stock I place in divinations and prophecies, beloved," Tom murmured. "So put this out of your mind. I will not fall to the pathetic utterings of a mad Seer."_

_He drew Severus into a kiss, hoping to distract the man with pleasure. But when they drew apart, while Severus was panting softly and his eyes were heavy lidded, there was also still some fear, some desperation in the way that he clutched at Tom. And never let it be said that Lord Voldemort could not read his beloved._

_"You're still concerned," Tom sighed._

_"I cannot help it," Severus whispered. He leaned forward, then, to bury his head in Tom's neck. "If you were to leave me," he whispered, and then stopped as though he couldn't continue._

_"I will never leave you, my Severus. You carry a piece of me with you at all times," Tom murmured, and reached out to gently finger the locket that, even now, rested snugly around Severus' neck. He waited a moment, and when Severus didn't move, didn't relax, he let out a small sigh. "Very well. If it disturbs you so very much, we'll simply have to take steps to settle your fears. I've been meaning to ask you, darling, how do you feel about taking a place as a spy among Albus' professors?"_

_"My Lord, you know that I would do anything you ask of me," Severus answered, his dark voice light and buoyant with relief._

ooOOooOOoo

Harry woke up gasping for breath. He sat up in bed, clutched at his hair, and let out a shaky, whispered, "No."

~Harry, are you well? What's happened?~ Tom asked, sounding alarmed. Harry could feel it, now that he was focussing on it, a sense of worry and fear and desperation making his nerves jangle. His fingers itched for his wand so he picked it up and cradled it close to him. Minerva let out a sleepy little mewl and crawled partially into his lap before flopping down.

"It's started, Tom. I... you... I had my first dream about you." Harry's voice was shaky and tinged with a wild despair. Tom had warned him that this was coming, Harry knew that he had, but Harry hadn't realized... hadn't thought that it would be so soon.

He could feel Tom's own sorrow bleeding through, and then Tom said quietly, ~I'm not surprised. The dreams... no, the visions shouldn't be too frequent as of yet. But eventually... eventually you're going to have a very long one, and when you come out of it, I'll be gone.~ Tom's voice was surprisingly calm as he made the statement, but it sent a sharp pang of pain through Harry at the mere thought. ~If this works the way I think it was supposed to, your first vision should have been of the most important thing in my life. What did you see?~ Tom asked, curious.

"I saw... I saw your relationship with the Professor," Harry whispered. He rubbed at Minerva's head gently for a few moments as he tried to calm down, then pushed her carefully away and stood. He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, not right then. He was far too unnerved, too jumpy. He needed to go out and do something, anything, to not be so damn petrified that going back to sleep would show him another vision of Tom. He didn't want to see...

~Huh. That's... not surprising at all, really, once I stop to think about it. Of course Severus is the most important thing in my life. You would be second, by the way. I love you, but I've always... he belonged to me, you know. He was my most loyal follower. My everything, for so long...~ Tom let out a wistful little sigh.

Harry smiled, a melancholy thing. "What say we go work on our other task? I don't think I'm going to be sleeping well at all tonight."

~A wise idea. Do you have the decoy book, just in case we get lucky?~ Tom asked.

"Got it," Harry whispered. He grabbed the heavy, fake volume and shoved it into his bag, from which he pulled the Invisibility Cloak at the same time. He crept from the room, then, and out into the castle, a sense of adventure distracting him from the thought that the merge had just become a much more real threat than it had been.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron scowled at the canopy of his bed. Harry had been talking to himself. That couldn't possibly be normal. Not that Ron thought that plotting the petrification of students was particularly normal, but still. It didn't necessarily make one insane. Slightly deranged, perhaps, but not insane.

But talking to oneself... And it had been a coherent half of a conversation. Maybe Harry had been using one of those enchanted mirrors he'd read about? But no, because then Ron was pretty sure he'd have been able to hear the other half of the conversation as well. There wasn't really any way that Harry could have been talking to another person unless... Unless...

Ron sat bolt upright in his bed and stared over at Harry's now empty one with wide eyes. His scar, which everyone said was a curse scar. It was a conduit to the Dark Lord, it had to be. And Harry had told Draco earlier in the year that... that he was on a task for the Dark Lord. Harry had been speaking to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord had been answering Harry in his mind. That was why Ron hadn't heard the entire conversation. So Harry wasn't crazy. Just... just linked to the being widely believed to be the most dangerous wizard of all time.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed to himself, wishing that he hadn't connected the dots. Harry had been destined to side with the Dark Lord from the start if he was right. Who could resist a mental link to another person? He just hoped that it wouldn't damage his friend if he was right.

He lay back down in his bed, closed his eyes, and focused very hard on not focussing on the probable link between the Dark Lord and Harry. There wasn't anything he could do anyway outside of being a good and supportive friend. And he had classes in the morning, no matter that Harry was apparently content to go to classes on little to no sleep. Ron couldn't function on less than eight hours of sleep.

But apparently he was destined to be a zombie the next day, because no matter how he tossed and turned, he couldn't get back to sleep. "You've got to be kidding me," Ron muttered, and flopped back onto his back to stare up at the canopy once more. This was ridiculous. But he couldn't stop thinking about Harry, and his task to petrify students, and whatever task he was working on right then. What would happen if Harry failed? The Dark Lord wasn't known to be kind to those who failed him.

Eventually, unable to sleep and unable to stop thinking of the danger that Harry was undoubtedly in, Ron muttered out an irritated, "_Tempus_," and found that it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. Way too early to be up, but yet he was far too wound up to go back to sleep. He couldn't turn his brain off. Bloody Hell, Harry was siding firmly with the Dark Lord, and doing so right under the Headmaster's nose. There was no way that was going to turn out well.

Ron muffled his irritated groan and eventually stood and stretched. If he couldn't get back to sleep, then he might as well do some studying or something. He was pretty behind in his Potions' theory, after all, and Draco and Harry were both great tutors but they shouldn't need to carry him through the class. He grabbed his bag rather resentfully and made his way into the common room.

The room was empty, and Ron settled into one of the very comfortable couches and pulled out his textbook. If he was very lucky, and he thought maybe he might be, he would fall asleep reading and not be forced to go to classes on only five hours of sleep. He could just imagine the fool of himself he would make if he did. But he didn't fall asleep. He instead found himself actually focussing on the textbook, if only so that he would stop worrying about Harry.

He didn't know how long had passed when he heard the quiet question, "Couldn't sleep?"

Ron jumped, his book dropping from his hands and clattering against the floor. Zabini had entered the common room at some point while he was reading, and had even gone so far as to settle next to Ron on the couch and Ron hadn't noticed. Like he'd said, he was an idiot when he had fewer than eight hours of sleep.

Zabini caught the book before it could hit the ground and offered it to Ron with a small, barely-there smile. "You should be more careful with your things," he said, "as the Weasleys have so little."

Ron flushed hotly and felt the familiar burn of rage as his family's monetary situation was mentioned. But he pushed it down and away. It was the truth, after all. Compared to the Zabinis, the Weasleys had nothing. Less than nothing, even. "I should," was all he said, and was proud of his unwavering tone. "And what about you?" he asked. "Couldn't you sleep either?"

Zabini shrugged. "This is the time when, traditionally, I contact my mother. But with you down here, I did not feel comfortable making the firecall. She has undoubtedly gone to bed now that I am so late in contacting her."

Ron was horrified. "I'm sorry. I could go to bed now, if you wanted to try her anyway," he offered, nervously fiddling with the cover of his book.

"There is no need for that, Weasley. I am certain that she would have gone to bed now, and she will simply assume that something came up to prevent me from calling her. She knows that I am fine. After all," the other second year said, a wicked smirk suddenly lighting his face, "I have never been attacked by a Mountain Troll."

"It was just the one time!" Ron protested. He opened his book up once more, flipped back to the page where he'd been studying, and returned his attention to the book resolutely. He didn't particularly want to be made fun of by the incredibly rich pureblood sitting next to him.

"One time is more than enough," Zabini responded, and then fell silent for several moments. Then, he took the book from Ron. "So then, Potions, Weasley?"

"I'm trying to study!" Ron protested, lunging for the book.

Zabini held it deftly out of his way. "And I will help you, if you would just settle down," the Italian said quietly, calmly. "I know that Malfoy and Potter normally do so, but you quarrelled the other day, so you are still a bit shaky on the theory we went over in class yesterday, yes?"

Ron relaxed. Studying was something he could do. And he was always up for receiving help from a genius like Zabini.

ooOOooOOoo

Breaking into the Headmaster's office had been surprisingly, disappointingly easy. All it took was a whisper of the password to the gargoyle that guarded the staircase and they were in. Of course, they did have the benefit of having the Founders' override password, courtesy of Saliss, which would disable all defenses within the Headmaster's office so long as the person that used the override remained in the office. Once Harry left, every ward and defense would spring back to the way that they were. But while he was in there, even the portraits would be unable to notice him. And on top of that, they wouldn't even notice that time had passed. Magic was a beautiful thing.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be where his luck ended. Harry searched one of the bookshelves before being distracted by the Headmaster's desk where he found quite a few interesting things, including some fairly recent correspondence between his Aunt and the Headmaster, wherein Petunia called him a bloodthirsty little monster and threatened to poison his food should the Headmaster attempt to return him to Petunia.

~Oh, your Aunt has such love for you, Harry!~ Tom sang, making an obvious attempt at being cheerful.

~She does, doesn't she?~ Harry asked, not really surprised by the contents of the letter. ~Maybe I should make sure to return the favor if I ever see her again,~ Harry muttered as he continued to flick through the papers on the Headmaster's desk.

~Harry, no! You have to make absolutely certain that you succeed in the event that you poison her,~ Tom chastised.

~Of course, my apologies,~ Harry murmured. He was grinning as he said it, though. Yes, if he ever went to actually poison Petunia Dursley, he'd make damned sure to do it properly. She wouldn't be walking away from it, that was certain.

He stood up, then, quite certain that the book was not, in fact, on the Headmaster's desk. Which made sense, of course, because why would it be on his desk if he'd already gone through the book once or twice? It certainly shouldn't be a current study of the Headmaster's. He made his way over to the second bookshelf, out of three. This one appeared to be covered in fascinating little doo-dads and watchamacallits that Harry couldn't even begin to identify. It would take a few months with a magical encyclopedia to tell what Dumbledore had in there.

And then he heard a soft, sleepy chirp and he froze. Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, had woken up and was looking about the room. The bird looked tired, ragged, and ready to burn at any given moment.

Harry asked Tom very carefully, ~Do phoenixes see through Invisibility Cloaks?~ He was very grateful that he'd already put the papers down and pushed Dumbledore's chair back into his desk. If the bird didn't notice him standing there, he would have definitely noticed a set of papers hovering in mid-air, or a chair pushing itself back under the desk.

~They don't, that I know of,~ Tom said, just as quietly. Which was ridiculous, because it wasn't as though the phoenix could hear their thoughts. And if he could they were screwed anyway.

~We should probably go,~ Harry whispered, and he could feel Tom's assent even as he very carefully began to move back through the Headmaster's office. He managed not to trip over anything and made it out of the office undetected.

Once they were out and wandering the halls in the direction of the Slytherin common room, Harry asked Tom, ~So how would one go about drugging a phoenix, anyway?~

~I think that maybe that might be both a bit extreme and a bit noticeable. So maybe not so much with the drugging,~ Tom said hesitantly. ~There exists a spell to put phoenixes to sleep, however, and that might be somewhat more effective than simply poisoning the bird.~

~Well if you're going to be all logical about it,~ Harry muttered as he slipped inside the common room.

And then he froze for the second time that night. Blaise Zabini was in the common room, studying the opened door with a raised eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that you were in possession of an Invisibility Cloak, Potter," the pureblood called.

Harry winced, and slipped the Cloak off and back into his bag. "How'd you know it was me?" he asked, approaching warily.

"You weren't in bed when I woke up. Neither was Weasley, but I've got him right here."

Harry frowned. He didn't see Ron anywhere in the common room. He came around the edge of the couch and his eyebrows rose. Ron's Potions textbook was open and on the table, and Ron himself was curled up on the couch, fast asleep. The more interesting thing was that apparently he'd fallen asleep while studying with Zabini, and they must have been sitting closely, because his head was in Zabini's lap.

Harry grinned. "I almost want to take a picture," he said through his smile. "What, did you put him to sleep with Potions?"

Zabini shrugged. "I believe that he was concerned about the conversation you had with somebody just before you left the room," the other answered.

Harry's eyes widened subtly before he blanked his expression. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said calmly.

"Mmm," Zabini murmured. "I'm sure. Don't worry, Potter, I'm a neutral party. I won't say anything to anyone. But you should be more careful about what you discuss and where you discuss it. Just because the walls may not have ears doesn't mean that your roommates don't."

"Thanks for the warning," Harry said, and left the common room before the Italian pureblood could do anything more to unnerve him.

He went up to the dorm, curled up in his bed, and tried to pretend like he was asleep. He knew that there was no way in hell that he'd manage any more sleep after the conversation he'd just had. As though he hadn't already been unnerved enough. He supposed that it was his own fault for being so upset about the vision that he hadn't even thought to check and see if his dorm-mates were awake.

Hopefully Zabini would keep his word, though. Harry would hate to have to make the other boy regret saying anything to anybody.

* * *

****

A/N: Guys, I'm so so sorry. I had so much to do this week, you just don't even want to know. I had projects due in every class, plus a two hour presentation to plan, plus, you know, work. And I felt like crap for most of the week. I've barely had time to breathe, much less respond to reviews. I'm sorry. But know that I did read each and every one, and I was so pleased by them. Your understanding and your enjoyment of the new chapter helped me through a very rough week. I'll try to get back to responding to reviews with this chapter. If you guys posted any questions that I didn't answer, please feel free to re-ask them, and I promise I'll get back to you all this time.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Eighteen-

"So you're Harry Potter," a young girl's voice said.

Ron groaned into his plate of food. "Ginny, go away," he said, and glared in the little girl's direction.

Harry's eyebrows raised. She was young, a first year no doubt, and she was staring at him with awe in her eyes and a hopeful smile on her lips. "Ron, you should introduce us," he offered, although his heart wasn't actually in the offer. She looked like a fangirl. Fortunately, his Sorting into Slytherin had discouraged the vast majority of them, and he'd hoped to never have to deal with them especially after last year when there hadn't been a single one, but he supposed he couldn't stay that lucky. He had no doubt that it would take everything he had just to be polite to the little girl, too. He hated sycophants.

Ron let out a heaving, put-upon sigh. "Right then. Harry Potter, this is my younger sister, Ginny Weasley. This year is, of course, her first year at Hogwarts. She's wanted to meet you since she was five," he said flatly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ginny said, her smile brightening her face.

Harry fought down the urge to say something rotten, something like, 'I can't really say the same'. Though it certainly would have gotten his point across.

Tom heard the thought, though, and Harry had to fight down his own giggles in response to Tom's laughter. ~That's beautiful, Harry, why wouldn't you say that?~

~Maybe because Ron is my friend and, oh, I don't know, maybe I'd like it to stay that way?~ Harry suggested. ~Also, the fact that the greatest Dark Lord since Grindelwald approves of the statement isn't exactly a point in its favor.~

"You play Quidditch for the Slytherin team, Harry?" Ginny was asking as she stepped closer to him.

Harry fought off the urge to push her back. She was invading his personal space in an intolerable way. He'd found that since living with the Dursleys for so long, with their general dislike of him, he'd never really learned to tolerate people being all that close to him. Which meant that when it came to his personal space, it generally was more of a requirement than a want. Ron and Draco seemed to be the exceptions to this discomfort of his, which amused Tom to no end.

"I do," he finally said, his answer as short as it was possible to be while still being just on the right side of polite. Zabini apparently knew exactly what he was doing, because the incredibly traditional pureblood was muffling a smile into a napkin.

"I was wondering, you see, I'm thinking of joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team myself. I'm not a bad Seeker," the girl said with a false modesty that was, in fact, more unattractive than genuine pride. Harry fought the urge to snarl at her. "So you see, I was wondering if maybe you might teach me some tricks? I've heard that you're wonderful with a broomstick."

Tom began cackling once more, loud and raucous. ~It's a wonder that she doesn't know what she's saying,~ the spirit crowed. ~You couldn't have scripted a worse innuendo.~

Harry fought the urge to smile. To Tom he said, ~How do you know that she doesn't?~ even as he responded aloud with, "I'm afraid that I won't be able to do that, Miss Weasley," still in that scrupulously polite, calm and even tone. He took a bite of his dessert, a delicious pudding that made his toes want to curl in delight. He'd missed things like this when he'd been growing up, and as such he savored them all the more now that Tom wasn't the one telling him what to eat and when to eat it.

~I made sure you got good things every now and again! But it was hard to do sweets because your family was so very stingy with the food,~ Tom protested.

~I wasn't blaming you,~ Harry responded patiently. ~Just thinking about why I enjoyed them so much. Because they are tasty.~

~Most people enjoy some form of sweets; you don't exactly need a reason to like them,~ Tom shot back.

Harry considered his response, but before he could think of anything he heard the stamping of a delicate little foot. "But why won't you help me with Quidditch? You're best friends with my brother!" the girl protested.

Harry turned to look at her and his eyebrows rose. Her arms were crossed and her face was screwed up into an unbecoming pout. "I'm quite busy with schoolwork, if you must know," he answered, holding tightly to his temper. Who was this little girl to demand that he help her with something? She wasn't even going to be playing for Slytherin!

"Ginny, seriously, Harry's got lots to do without you nagging him about playing Quidditch. Besides, you're on the wrong team. Why should he help you beat us in Quidditch?" Ron asked, his tone perfectly reasonable.

Harry nodded in Ron's direction. "Listen to your older brother; he's got the right idea."

"Quidditch is all in good fun!" the girl proclaimed, and Harry winced. He hadn't realized how annoying her voice was until just then. "And in the interest of improving inter-House relations, we should try to get along."

"Gin, we're not really interested in improving inter-House relations through the use of Quidditch. We're Slytherins. We're ambitious. We'd like to win. I don't think you're going to win this argument," Ron said tiredly, with the tone of one who had said it many times before. Harry wondered if Ron had, in fact, had this argument with the little girl before. Which was really only another strike against her. Why wouldn't one of his best friends know whether he would help his little sister or not?

Her scowl worsened as Harry watched in a combination of amusement and disdain. According to Tom, this was not how purebloods behaved in public, even blood traitors like the Weasleys. And if he, raised among Muggles, knew the difference then a Weasley raised among wizards certainly should. "Ron, why are you being mean? I'm going to tell Mum that you won't ask your friend to help me!" she exclaimed.

Harry snapped. "I don't know who told you that pouting and stamping your foot and whining made you look attractive, but they don't. They make you look like a fool. You're obnoxious, annoying, and foolish. Remove yourself from my sight before I make certain that your appearance matches your shrewish personality," he snarled.

Tom was entirely silent within Harry's mind, but Harry could feel his entertainment and his slight awe, and he had to fight down a flush at the feeling. Tom approved, which maybe meant that his behavior hadn't been the best just then.

The girl paled, then flushed, then tears began to stream down her cheeks and she fled, sobbing, from the Great Hall.

"I apologize, Ron," Harry said through gritted teeth. He wasn't sorry at all, really, but he didn't want to lose the redhead over this nonsense.

Ron waved it off. "Don't be," he said easily. "I warned her over the summer, and I warned her again before I joined you on the train that you probably wouldn't want much to do with her, but she wouldn't listen. I guess she had to learn the hard way."

"Nicely done, Harry," Draco added quietly, approvingly, and Harry smiled at both of them and went back to enjoying dessert.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was ready for his next target, one Serena Powell. He'd done his research into the Muggle-born girl first, and found that yes, she was in fact an appropriate choice for a target. More than appropriate, in fact, as she was not only cruel to the younger students in her house but she was incredibly lazy and really not all that intelligent. Not that one necessarily expected a Hufflepuff to be intelligent. Yes, unlike Granger, Powell was absolutely worthless and would make an excellent target.

And, her schedule had been almost impossibly easy to learn. She was always doing the same things, and since mostly nobody actually liked her, she was almost always alone. Her one friend was a Slytherin, who seemed delighted by the fact that she couldn't keep any of her other friends. Harry thought it was a rather unhealthy relationship.

Tom thought that Harry had no call to be calling another relationship unhealthy, considering their own. Most would say that Harry was a little insanely dependant upon him.

Either way, Harry was ready to make his move by that night, which he thought was perfectly appropriate for the start of their fun. ~And you accuse me of being the one with a flare for the dramatic,~ Tom grumbled, as they approached the site where they would use Saliss on poor, dear Serena Powell.

The basilisk was already waiting in the piping, as a matter of fact, hissing gleefully over finally being allowed to do something about the little impure beasts roaming his corridors. The school was his, after all, he should be allowed to hunt freely within it. He wasn't happy that Harry wasn't actually going to let him kill any of the students, either, but at least Harry was going to let him do something. It was more than he'd had in a long time, at least.

~Seriously, Harry, is the message necessary?~ Tom asked, almost whining. He was scowling at the bucket of red paint in Harry's hand, acquired from the Room of Hidden Things, because where else would he find paint in Hogwarts? He certainly wasn't going to write in blood. That was just tacky. It was enchanted paint, too, that would be incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to remove from the walls.

Harry's message would likely still be there once Voldemort had managed to take over the school, and would serve as a suitable warning. ~I think it'll be a nice touch to get Dumbledore scrambling,~ Harry thought back, grinning.

~Yes, but 'Enemies of the Heir, Beware'? What Heir are we talking about here?~ Tom asked, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

Harry grinned. Tom had been pushing him on this for the past month, ever since Harry had come up with the idea of writing a message. Harry still hadn't caved in and told him anything about the Heir in question. Beyond, of course, asking which Heir Tom thought he was talking about, which was no kind of answer at all. And one that he reiterated, just for the hell of it. ~Which Heir do you think that I'm talking about?~ he asked, a mischievous smile touching his lips.

Tom let out an inarticulate growl of rage. ~Harry, I swear on both of our magics that if you don't answer me this instant I will kill you,~ Tom snarled.

Harry felt the flare of power binding the words. His eyes widened in surprise and he swiftly blurted out, "I'm talking about myself!" before the oath could do anything they both regretted. And then winced, because he hadn't intended to speak that out loud.

~Talking about yourself? And just what do you imagine yourself to be an heir of?~ Tom asked, curiosity piqued. Harry could feel it, bright and brilliant and painful for what it represented. He hated being able to feel Tom's curiosity.

But he answered the question anyway. ~I'm the heir to a lot of things. The heir to the Potter fortune, the heir to some of your power, the heir to a piece of your soul, and let's be honest here, by the end of all of this I'll probably be the Heir to Lord Voldemort's throne. Because who else would he pick? After all, I've got a piece of his soul inside of me.~

~Arrogant of you,~ Tom said, but Harry could both feel his agreement and hear it in his voice. ~He'll likely be pleased by your ambition. Which will certainly be better than him deciding to strike you down where you stand for being so arrogant. He approves of ambition when it's in a direction he agrees with.~

It didn't escape Harry's notice that Tom was saying "He" instead of "We", and that made Harry's heart hurt just a bit. He was pretty sure that as Tom accepted that he and Voldemort were no longer the same person, he and Tom got closer to merging. And he didn't want to merge. And then, of course, there was the whole...

~So can we talk about you being able to swear on my magic? Because somehow I didn't think you could do that,~ Harry sent to Tom, his own curiosity getting the better of him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he knew that this was something he needed to know, whether he wanted to or not.

~I shouldn't be able to,~ Tom said quietly. ~I spoke in jest; I'll have to be much more careful with what I say next time.~

~So... could I swear on yours?~ Harry asked, not that he was planning on trying it or anything. That would be a disaster in the making.

~I don't... probably,~ Tom whispered, and the two of them lapsed into an uneasy silence. Harry's resolve to not make the attempt firmed at the discomfort in Tom's mind.

They had long since arrived at the ambush site, a little used corridor that did, in fact, lead right to the Hufflepuff common room. Powell always used this corridor to get back because she didn't like to run into the other students on her way to the dormitories. They were riff-raff who cluttered the halls, after all. And Harry had spotted her at the feast, which he'd made certain that he put in an appearance at. He also made sure that he wasn't the first student to leave the feast. Ron's sister had that dubious honor, after he'd sent her off in tears.

He almost felt bad about that, but not too bad. After all, she'd been harassing him. Was he not supposed to defend himself from foolish advances that he had no interest in? And she'd been acting like a spoiled brat which, no matter what anybody said, was terribly unattractive.

He turned his attention to painting the message on the wall, then hid everything under his Invisibility Cloak and stood absolutely still as he waited for the girl to come his way. Hopefully she would and he wouldn't have to try and decide exactly how he wanted to get her into the corridor. It could be messy if she didn't; he might have to simply have Saliss take the next person that entered the corridor and hope that it whoever it was fit the profile that Voldemort had suggested.

And then he heard the girl, singing quietly to herself as she walked down the hallway she should have known like the back of her hand. She probably did, though Harry couldn't say for certain.

"Saliss, now, please," Harry hissed to the snake, who slowly began to emerge from the piping at Harry's command. His first eyelid was closed, preventing the snake from using the most awesome of his powers. But a direct stare into even the shielded eye of a basilisk would still Petrify any wizard, no matter how powerful. And Serena Powell was anything but powerful.

The little blonde chit stepped into view, then, and froze at the sight of the red paint on the wall. Then she shrieked when she spotted the basilisk and his glowing eyes, but by then it was far too late. She fell stiffly to one side, her body entirely Petrified. Harry walked over and poked at her, just to be sure that she was actually Petrified and not dead, and nodded once in satisfaction.

"Nice job, Saliss," the boy said from under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak. "Now back to the Chamber with you. I'll be by with another task for you soon enough," Harry commanded.

The basilisk grumbled about it, but slithered back into the piping only moments before Harry heard a shriek behind him. Another girl had stumbled upon the scene. Harry swiftly made himself scarce before anybody could accidentally knock into him.

One down, four to go. And one out of the three main tasks completed. Not bad, considering that it was just now Halloween.

~Did you have any doubt that we'd be able to do this?~ Tom asked, curious.

~None at all. Just that we'd be able to get the two tasks completed by Christmas time,~ Harry answered and closed the door to the common room behind him. With the lead they had, he was sure that getting that book from the Headmaster's office was going to be a mere nuisance at best. All he had to do was find the time.

ooOOooOOoo

All he needed to do was find the time. What a laugh that was turning out to be.

It was now only a week out from the Christmas holidays, and Quidditch season was in full-throttle. Harry had two and a half practices every week, and that wasn't counting games. They'd won their first, and Harry was just as determined to win their second, but he was running out of time. If something didn't give soon he'd have to back out of the team, and wouldn't that make Tom happy?

On top of that, his teachers seemed as determined as ever to fill up all their time with homework and inane assignments that had nothing to do with anything they were learning. Or rather, everything to do with what they were learning but nothing to do with real world application. Why should he write an essay on the properties of dragon's blood when he could just look them up in a book? It wasn't like he'd actually need to have all of this memorized; he wasn't trying to be a Potion's Master. He glowered resentfully at his textbook, wishing that he could light it on fire with his stare alone. Tom probably could.

~You know, if you're still interested in being a Healer you'll need to do quite well in your Potions class,~ Tom sent smugly. ~So I'd start paying closer attention, were I you.~

Harry growled inarticulately and slammed the book closed. "I hate Potions," he announced to Draco and Ron, who were sharing his table at the library.

"No, you love Potions. What you hate is that it's eating into our free time," Draco answered calmly. He'd joined them a bit later in the library, and Harry had been puzzled to see him paler than normal, and shaking the way he'd shaken right after Lucius had tortured him. It had been a fine, intermittent tremble that nobody would have noticed had they not been watching him closely. Harry always watched Draco closely; he couldn't help it. Perhaps there was some residual nerve damage? Harry hadn't heard anything about the Board of Governors visiting Hogwarts that day, so it couldn't be his father.

He pushed it to the side. Draco had made it clear to Harry that he didn't want Harry's help with his father. That didn't mean that Harry wasn't going to help him anyway, he just had to be more subtle about it. "What I hate is that it's keeping me from..." Harry trailed off abruptly as he recalled that Ron was with them, studying quietly and complacently. He'd already slipped up around the Weasley boy once; he couldn't afford to do it again. What if he reported back to Dumbledore? Not that Harry really thought that his friend would do that.

~You seem to think that Dumbledore wouldn't use a child to do his dirty work,~ Tom said quietly. ~He absolutely would. We've discussed this, Harry. I know that you like the child; I like the child, even. But we cannot risk telling him too much. Even if he isn't reporting to Dumbledore yet, he might choose to do so once he has all the facts, and we cannot risk that. Or would you be willing to kill him when he threatens to go to the Headmaster?~

Harry fought down a snarl. Neither Draco nor Ron had done anything worthy of snarling at, and while Draco might understand just who it was he was actually angry with, Ron would not. ~I understand, Tom. Hence why I haven't told him of my tasks.~ And he did understand. He just didn't like it.

"You hate that it's keeping you from... sleeping? Eating? Flirting with Draco more?" Ron was asking.

Harry flushed violently. "What are you talking about? I don't flirt with Draco!" he shouted, then winced when Madame Pince shot a vicious glare in their direction. He nodded his head in apology to the librarian, then reiterated in a much more subdued voice, "I don't flirt with Draco," as firmly as he could. Because he didn't.

Tom was laughing in his head again, the treacherous bastard. Even if it was good to hear him laugh after his severe depression.

"I can see how your attentions towards my person could be construed as flirting," Draco said quietly, flipping a page in his book. "After all, you're always staring at me, and you did hug me after Quidditch tryouts."

"What... I- Draco!" Harry sputtered, horrified. "I wasn't... I mean, that is to say, I didn't mean to... I mean I-"

"We're teasing, Harry," Ron said, and reached over and patted Harry's hand, still resting on the cover of his Potions text.

It was a condescending gesture, and Harry growled at Ron before jerking his hand back. It was December the first, and he was still nowhere near being able to figure out how to put the damned phoenix to sleep without alerting the Headmaster to anything suspicious. He'd gotten back into the man's office several times, but always now the bird was awake and watching, and chirped the minute that Harry got up the stairs. It was... frustrating, to say the least.

It had led to him being forced to make the potion that Tom had mentioned to him when the phoenix had first woken up with Harry in the room. It was a version of the standard Sleeping Draught, although a bit more difficult because they needed it in a gaseous form and they needed it to affect a phoenix. Most potions wouldn't affect phoenixes as they had a natural immunity to most of the ingredients. It had taken Tom a good three weeks to work out the theory for the potion which, while not long for others, was staggering long for the ex-Dark Lord. At one point he'd even been ready to throw in the towel and ask Snape for help, which Harry had vetoed. They were doing this on their own or they wouldn't do it at all.

At least he was ready for the next part of his other, bigger task: Petrifying one Martin Anderson, a fourth year Gryffindor. And that had the benefit of helping them out in Quidditch, since Anderson was the team's Seeker. He wasn't very good, but the rest of the team was and Harry thought that anything to give Slytherin an edge was probably a bonus. Other than that, the boy was lazy as anything. He barely maintained passing grades in his classes and made no effort to apply himself. He apparently had delusions of becoming a Quidditch player professionally. Since he was a barely adequate player, Harry felt as though he'd be doing the boy a favor by Petrifying him. Maybe it would help him get his act together.

"What are you grinning at?" Ron asked, curiously.

Harry flushed. "I'm just thinking about something, that's all," he said defensively. And he was. Thinking of the potion brewing down in the Chamber of Secrets that would finally, finally be ready tonight. And the fact that he was, finally, ready to move on Martin Anderson. So the plan, such as it was, was simple: move on Anderson tonight, after dinner, because the fourth year was always the last one out of the dining hall and again, almost never with friends. And then, after he'd done that, while the Headmaster was presumably consoling the poor dear boy's distraught family, Harry would take his Cloak, gas the phoenix, and sneak into Dumbledore's office where he could search the Headmaster's office at his leisure. Hopefully.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry had to make things as public as possible this time, without either himself or Saliss being caught. He needed to get into the Headmaster's office that night, because he didn't know when else he would find the time with his schedule of homework and the like. Not that homework was actually important, but Professor Snape would have his head if he thought that Harry was slacking off in his class.

~Your homework should be coming first, anyway,~ Tom protested quietly, and Harry started.

He didn't mean to, but he was busy sneaking and Tom had been awfully quiet for most of the day. More quiet than normal earlier in the week, too. He pointed that out to Tom, then asked, ~Are you well?~ although he didn't think it likely that Tom could actually get sick inside his head. After all, how could the spirit become ill while living inside of him? It didn't seem possible.

Tom gave a quiet murmur of assent and then, softly, ~Just giving you a chance to adjust to not hearing my voice.~

Harry rolled his eyes. ~You yourself said that you didn't think it would happen for another year. Please don't start being all depressed about that again.~ Though his words were harsh, he said them as gently as he could. He hated that Tom was so upset about this, hated that there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Tom made no response, not even when Harry deliberately knocked his vial of Sleeping Draught against the stone wall of the castle. They were hiding in the corner where two halls met, and Saliss was just inside a vent. The vent was, rather conveniently, placed at eye level, and Saliss was positioned in just the right way that his eyes were up against the grating. As soon as Anderson reached the end of the hallway, Saliss would open the first flap of his eyelids and Petrify the fourth year, and ideally be gone before anybody else could be caught by the basilisk's gaze.

Of course it didn't work out quite that way. Anderson was on his way back to the Gryffindor common room, but he was talking and laughing and there was a girl with him that Harry didn't recognize.

He swore within his mind and asked Tom, ~Should we go for it anyway?~

~I don't see how we have a choice. As you stated only moments ago, we're running out of time,~ Tom answered, not sounding particularly enthused.

Harry worried over the spirit. He seemed to be lapsing into a sort of depression, not that Harry could blame him. He'd be depressed too if he were dying. But he didn't have time to worry about Tom right now. "Saliss, go for it," he whispered, and the snake opened his eyes.

He got Anderson, absolutely, but then the girl stopped to see what he was staring at and the basilisk got her, too. Harry groaned, then ordered the snake back to the dungeons. He didn't recognize the girl in question, beyond that she was older and wearing Slytherin colors, but he hoped that she wasn't the daughter of one of Voldemort's followers. That could get messy if she was.

~I don't recognize her,~ Tom said, sounding at least a little bit more interested. Harry had only a moment to be relieved until he heard another set of voices, this time coming from the opposite direction. He waited until the screaming started, waited until the Headmaster himself arrived on the scene, then slipped off towards the man's office.

From there, sneaking into the Headmaster's office was child's play. He used the override password once more and made his way up the stairs. Sure enough, the obnoxious and ratty looking phoenix was waiting on his perch, singing softly to himself. The song made Harry ache with something he couldn't define, and then he was uncapping the vial that Tom had prepared and tipping it over.

A fine mist spread throughout the room, soft and subtle and creeping. Harry cast a swift Bubblehead Charm on himself and waited. It took only moments for the mist to take its effect, and Fawkes fell into a deep and restful sleep that would appear to be perfectly natural to anyone looking. There wouldn't even be a trace of the potion left within Fawkes' system once the bird had awoken, should anyone even think to check. Harry relaxed and moved immediately over to the bookshelves he'd begun to search when Fawkes had woken up almost three months ago.

The first of the bookshelves didn't have the volume in question, though Harry did see several books that looked interesting. He reached out and opened one, skimmed it a bit, then settled it back into place as though he'd never touched it when Tom let out an impatient hiss in his ear. ~What? I wasn't going to stand here and read the whole thing,~ Harry protested.

~We don't have time for you to be reading anything! I'll remember the title and we can look into getting you a copy of that particular book later. _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ isn't a particularly rare novel. You can pick up a copy in any Flourish and Blotts,~ Tom hissed at him.

~Why are you hissing? It isn't as though anybody but you can hear me,~ Harry asked, although he was quite delighted that Tom was actually acting and responding rather than just sulking in his head like some great miasma of despair.

~Because I don't want to give you a headache from shouting at you. If you're quite through with asking nonsensical questions, don't we have a book to be finding before the Headmaster comes up to his office with the desperately broken-hearted parents of the hellspawn you just Petrified?~ Tom asked, venom dripping from his words.

Harry smiled even as he moved on to the fourth and final bookshelf in the room. The first two he'd gotten on the first night, and the third he'd just done. Hopefully the book hadn't been moved in the two months he'd been unable to get into the Headmaster's office.

It hadn't. There it was right at eye-level, as immaculate and dust-free as all the other books and knick-knacks on the other bookshelves. The house elfs no doubt had their hands full when dealing with the Headmaster's office. There was so much stuff to clean off in the cluttered room! Harry was very glad that he didn't have to deal with the Headmaster's office. It would be a nightmare.

~Harry,~ Tom ground out, sounding nervous and irritated and several other things all at once.

Harry fought back a grin, and then searched his bag for the duplicate book that Voldemort had given him. He felt a moment's panic when he couldn't find the duplicate, but then it was there and he'd switched the books. He got out of the man's office and was halfway down the hall when the Headmaster returned to his office, a somber frown on his face.

Once they were back, safe and sound within the Slytherin common room, Harry sent to Tom, ~So, task accomplished. We're all set for Christmas, then, right?~

~Except that you forgot about getting Christmas presents for Ron and Draco, and we're in the week before Christmas break,~ Tom sent back, smug and entertained.

Harry let out a loud, vicious swear that had the entire common room turning to stare at him. He flushed, ducked his head, murmured an apology, and fled to the dormitory before he could embarrass himself further.

He still had two weeks to buy presents for Draco and Ron, especially since he was going to be going to Malfoy Manor for Christmas. He had no doubt that he'd be able to find something suitable for both of them in Diagon Alley, and he'd make a point to go there before returning to the Manor with Draco once break started. That was an easy enough oversight to fix. He hoped.

* * *

**A/N: As always, everyone, thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Just a notice, and a small warning, we are officially at the end of the chapters I've pre-written, so if my update speed slows further, I apologize. I'm working on it.**


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Nineteen-

The older girl that had been with Martin Anderson actually wound up being his older Slytherin target, Anna Traegar, so Harry didn't feel nearly so guilty about getting her accidentally with the basilisk. Lucius Malfoy had given the report over dinner, his face sour and unamused as he glowered at Harry. As a result of that sour unamusement, Harry had been very careful to check his meal over with a subtle spell used to detect poisons before he'd taken a bite, to Tom's quiet amusement. Bezoars or no, he didn't necessarily think that his first poisoning was a right of passage that he really needed to try out. Although Tom had assured him that Narcissa would never allow him to be poisoned while at her table. Looking at the distant, regal pureblooded witch, Harry couldn't quite believe that. She looked like poison was her main weapon.

And now, he found himself sitting in Voldemort's study once more, both the book and the diadem out on the table. The Dark Lord was studying them, a small and somewhat approving... Harry hesitated to call it a smile, but if the expression fit, a small and approving smile on his face.

"Nicely done, child," the Dark Lord murmured. "And three of your victims done, though I do believe that I requested they be spread out a bit more?"

"Actually, sir, the girl was an accident," Harry confessed, staring down at his hands. "I mean, she was on my list but I hadn't intended to take her until after Christmas break. It was more a crime of opportunity than anything else."

Voldemort nodded once, sharply. "I suppose if she was a target anyway then it isn't too frustrating," he murmured. "Although, I do confess, I was expecting you to begin with somebody from your own year, as I had thought they would be most familiar to you. I suppose it doesn't particularly matter one way or another, but I find your decision to begin with a third year intriguing."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, grateful in a way for the chance to speak his mind. On the other hand, he was a little scared of bringing this particular subject up to the Dark Lord. He could see this going very poorly. ~Do you think we've got enough hard cover for this conversation?~ Harry asked, a little nervously.

~I don't think there's enough hard cover in the world for this particular conversation,~ Tom murmured back, filled with just as much trepidation if Harry was reading him correctly. Harry was relatively sure that he was.

There was no real way not to be nervous about this conversation, so Harry just took another deep breath and threw himself right into it, to Tom's mental accusation of ~Gryffindor,~ spoken fondly. "Sir, I was wondering if maybe we could discuss your requirements for victims of the basilisk? Because I was thinking that maybe I don't necessarily agree with your decisions as to what makes a proper victim."

Voldemort's eyebrows arched. "Are you actually questioning my orders, child?" the Dark Lord asked, sounding amused. Harry supposed that amusement was a better reaction than fury.

He nodded once. "It's just that you're right. I originally chose a Muggle-born student in my year by the name of Hermione Granger. And the thing is, I was going to take her as my first victim, so to do that I would have to know her patterns and everything, right? But when I followed her for a day, I found that... well, Tom even agreed that the girl is brilliant. So I submit that it isn't necessarily all Muggle-born that are the problem. Respectfully," Harry rushed out, not really even wanting to pause for breath because that would only give the Dark Lord a chance to interject his own opinion.

"Respectfully, Mr. Potter, I actually do agree with you," the Dark Lord murmured, his amusement only growing by the tone of his voice. "It would be terribly hypocritical of me not to, considering that I was born a half-blood and raised in a Muggle orphanage. However, in this particular matter, I've found that targeting the Muggle-born is an excellent way of guaranteeing pureblood support."

Harry took another deep breath and let it out slowly. That was half the battle done, right there. Voldemort agreed with him. "Surely you can acknowledge that's at least a little bit unfair, to present your ideas one way when what you actually intend is entirely different?" he asked quietly. He still couldn't quite bring himself to look up from his hands. He was far too nervous to do so.

"I can certainly understand how that would be considered unfair," Voldemort murmured. "Would you at least do me the decency of looking up at me when you're challenging the way that I do things?" Voldemort asked suddenly, exasperation coloring his tone.

Harry flushed and looked up. Voldemort was watching him, a smirk on his face, and Harry had to fight the urge to duck his head again. "It's just that I think there must be a better way to do things. Like, I don't know, lobbying to introduce a new wizard-studies class to the Hogwarts curriculum. Or something. Not necessarily keeping them out of the wizarding world, because that will only lead to more accidental magic being done where Muggles can see it."

"Again, I agree with you. Once we've won the war, I don't see any reason why we wouldn't introduce a wizard-studies course to the Hogwarts curriculum. It's just a matter of winning the war, first."

"But I'm saying maybe there doesn't need to be a war," Harry offered quietly. "If you were willing to compromise, and if Dumbledore was willing to compromise, then we would be able to figure out a more peaceful solution than just murdering each other."

"Dumbledore won't compromise. From the very beginning he was quite determined to hate me. And, quite honestly, I don't care enough to compromise with him. Not to mention the fact that our government, the Ministry itself, is fundamentally broken. I'd like to try and fix that. Which requires an overhaul of the system, which the vast majority of the current government would resist wholeheartedly. Which, again, leads us back to war." Voldemort let out a small sigh.

"Isn't that a little bit fatalistic?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. He heard Tom hiss in his head, and realized that maybe insulting the Dark Lord might not be the best method to not getting hexed. Or, more dangerously, cursed. He fell silent just as the Dark Lord raised one hand in a pausing gesture.

"You must understand, Harry, I spent a little under a decade as nothing but a spirit. As such, I had quite a lot of time to think as there isn't much else to do when one wanders the astral plane. I considered a peaceful solution to our difficulties, but I genuinely don't see one. If one were to present itself, then yes, I would consider it, but in today's political climate I just don't see it."

"So you're reduced to terrorism in the name of ideals that you don't truly believe. That doesn't sound like much of a choice to me," Harry muttered.

"We do what we must to get the job done," Voldemort murmured. "And we wouldn't get very far without the pureblood support."

"Yeah, but you can't tell me that you don't have funding of your own, being Slytherin's heir," Harry accused. "And you have me, now, and I could provide the Potter family vaults for your use. So you don't necessarily need to depend as much on not pissing of the purebloods."

Voldemort's eyebrow quirked. "I take it that you're pushing for a reason, other than just annoying me. Because, Harry, as much as I may be amused by your declaring yourself my heir in red paint on the walls of Hogwarts, I still won't tolerate you questioning me simply for the joy of questioning."

"I can understand how maybe changing the way that you do things right off the bat might not be the wisest of tactical moves. But I was thinking that maybe we could start small. Make a little change to my targets, rather than just attacking Muggle-borns." Harry was relaxed, now, and wondering why he'd been so tense about this in the first place. Voldemort agreed with him, and hadn't hexed him for speaking his mind. ~Why did you think this wasn't going to go so well?~ he asked Tom, who'd been silent for most of the conversation. Too quiet, so maybe he was just paying close attention?

~I hadn't realized that Voldemort would have mellowed while being trapped as a spirit. I suppose I should have, but I didn't,~ Tom said quietly. ~Although I'm not a hundred percent sure that this is all real, and that he isn't just using you for now.~

Harry had considered that very thing himself. While he hoped that wasn't the case, he didn't see what he could do if it was. It wasn't like he had another option to fall back on. He'd already pretty thoroughly alienated the Headmaster, and there wasn't exactly a third side to this war. Well, other than siding with the Ministry and Harry wasn't really going to do that. He'd rather be killed by Voldemort, he thought, than live under the Ministry's thumb.

~I think I've influenced that opinion of yours,~ Tom said cheerfully. ~It's nice to know that you aren't the only one out there influencing opinions.~

Voldemort cleared his throat. "You were going to make a suggestion regarding your victims?" he prompted, quiet and calm and not at all the way that Harry would have thought he would have taken being ignored.

"Sorry. Tom and I were talking. It was just that maybe we should take out one of the more worthless purebloods on Dumbledore's side? Not permanently, of course. But Neville Longbottom is pretty useless, and he's a pureblood. He'd be a good place to start if we were going to subtly change directions. After all, you can never go wrong by trimming the fat, if you will."

"It certainly isn't a bad idea," Voldemort allowed with a nod of his head. "Was that who you were thinking of changing your final victim to?" he asked, gentle curiosity coloring his tone.

Harry hesitated. He could back off here, could say yes. But... "Actually, I was thinking that maybe Professor Lockhart could be my final victim. Could I feed him to Saliss?" he asked, as innocently as he could.

Voldemort stared at him, then burst into startled laughter. "I... I don't see why not, Harry," he finally managed to choke out. "That would certainly be a fitting end for the waste of space that is Gilderoy Lockhart. Just make sure that you do it after exams so that the school year isn't cut so short." Voldemort glared severely at Harry. "I really do need the Headmaster to be very distracted for the coming few months."

"I can do this," Harry said with an agreeable nod.

"Then, if that's all that you had to discuss, I have a meeting for you to attend."

Voldemort said this so matter-of-factly that Harry thought for a moment that he'd misheard. And then the words caught up and Harry asked, startled, "Wait, a meeting for me?"

"I'm not enamored of the idea of you merging with the part of my soul inside of you. I'd like to see about transferring it to an inanimate object. To that end, you'll be seeing an asset of mine that I never had the opportunity to use during the first war. He's going to see if there's any way to separate you from my horcrux without damaging either of you."

~No.~ Tom rejected the idea as flatly as he'd initially rejected the idea of Harry setting loose the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. It was a tone that left no room for negotiation, no room for compromise. It was a flat refusal.

Harry was intrigued. "Tom says no, and he said it in that tone that indicated that he wasn't willing to budge," Harry offered.

Voldemort chuckled. "He shouldn't worry. You won't be meeting with Malfoy alone. His partner, Collin Rosiver, will be there."

"Malfoy?" Harry asked. Somehow he was getting the image that the Dark Lord wasn't speaking of either Lucius or Draco. Or even Mrs. Malfoy, for that matter.

~He isn't. He's talking about a monster, that's who he's talking about. Lethfyren Malfoy comes from an offshoot of the Malfoy line that isn't often seen in England. Do keep in mind that the Malfoys began as a French family. And I thought that the Rosiver line was a Light line,~ Tom said, sounding irritated.

"Tom says that he thought the Rosiver line was a Light line. He also really doesn't like the idea of my meeting with this other Malfoy," Harry reported dutifully.

"The Rosiver line is a Light line. But Collin is a bit... different from the rest of his family. He goes where he's needed, and as the only Mind Healer who has successfully worked with Lethfyren Malfoy, he's needed here. He's never ascribed to Dumbledore's 'for the greater good' policy. Plus, I think he has delusions of getting his hands on my own mind, which isn't happening." Voldemort smirked at the notion.

Tom let out a small sigh in Harry's head. ~I suppose that he wouldn't actually hurt you while he's got me in your head, and he wouldn't want to risk damaging either of us by forcing me out. Fine. But if you're damaged in any way by the bloodthirsty little monster, I'll kill him.~

"Tom's threatening death if I'm hurt in any way by the 'bloodthirsty little monster'. And I'm not too confident when it comes to seeing somebody that Tom is calling a bloodthirsty monster," Harry confessed.

"If you'll follow me?" was all that Voldemort said. He stood, then, and left the room before Harry could say anything else regarding the matter.

Harry had a bad feeling about this.

ooOOooOOoo

Tom was sulking in his head and Harry's bad feeling grew as he settled at the small table across from a very creepy looking blond.

He had the signature Malfoy pale blond hair that looked to go down to his back coupled with bright, golden hawk's eyes and a set of shadows surrounding said eyes that made him look all the more sinister. He had a particularly nasty scowl on his pixie-like face which only deepened when Harry was settled across from him.

"I don't do children," the blond said, his voice surprisingly light and clear. He didn't look old enough to have known Voldemort before his first fall, but yet he was glaring at Voldemort as though he expected the Dark Lord to know what he was talking about. If Tom did, he was remaining stubbornly silent.

Voldemort apparently did. "I'm not asking you to hurt him. I'm not asking you to extract information. I'm not even asking you to act now. What I'm asking you to do is find out if it would be possible to extract my horcrux without damaging either the horcrux or Harry. Would you at least look?" he asked, voice surprisingly polite for having just been snapped at by a subordinate.

~It's bad policy to piss off people that can scramble brains with just a meeting of the eyes. Lethfyren is a very powerful, very unstable Legilimens. It's his primary talent. I don't even know that I've ever seen the boy with a wand,~ Tom murmured within Harry's mind. ~But Voldemort is right. If anybody could separate us, Lethfyren could. I just don't think that he can.~

The other person in the room, Tom was apparently less familiar with, judging by his total silence when Harry glanced in his direction. This man looked to be around Professor Snape's age and Harry had almost overlooked him. He was of medium height, medium weight, with a mild expression and warm brown eyes. He looked entirely unassuming. And yet, this mild and unassuming in appearance person reached out and patted one of Malfoy's hands and leaned over to whisper something in the other's ear.

Lethfyren deflated almost instantly. "Fine. Whatever. I'll have a look," the young man bit out. "Just don't blink, kid," he advised, and before Harry had a chance to prepare, they were within the familiar blankness of his mindscape. "Not bad, kid, not bad at all," the blond said, looking around. "Considering how young you are, these are some impressive mental shields. I'd imagine the horcrux within you helps. But, as impressive as they are, we'll just be doing away with those for now. They're only getting in my way" the man murmured, and with a flick of his wrist Harry felt his mental walls crumble.

He flinched as he was laid bare before the man, the space they occupied going from dark and calm to bright and chaotic as his innermost thoughts were broadcast to the man invading his mind. Apparently his mind actually looked a bit like the Chamber of Secrets. Who knew? It was likely Tom's influence that did it. "Do you have to be so rough about it?" Tom asked, appearing beside Harry. The once-Dark Lord wrapped a supporting arm around Harry's shoulders and glowered at Lethfyren.

Lethfyren shrugged. "I'm here to do a job, not hold hands. But if it bothers you..." With another flick of his wrist, they were standing in the much more familiar setting of Tom's sitting room, and Harry felt himself relaxing just a bit. "It's easier if you're both relaxed, anyway. So just chill out here while I go and take a look around, yeah?" the other suggested, and then before Harry could think to protest, he'd left the room via the door back to Harry's mind.

Harry went to go after him and froze. The handle, when he turned it, wouldn't move. "Tom?" he asked, uncertain, "Were we just locked in a room within my own mind?"

Tom let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, we were," the ex-Dark Lord said irritably. "I suppose it's better this way. At least if we're stuck in here Lethfyren won't be irritated by our mere presence and won't be tempted to scramble us just for fun. Because he would, if we pissed him off enough. Whether you're a child or not."

Harry got the sense of something, like Tom didn't really mean what he was saying and was only saying it because he was mildly irritated. "No, he wouldn't," Harry murmured, perfectly confident in his statement. The man might be annoyed enough to lock him into a room within his own mind, but he clearly wasn't going to hurt him. Tom didn't even think it was a remote possibility.

"I don't like that you know that," Tom grumbled. "Cards, then?" he offered, and a deck of cards that materialized from nowhere.

"Cards, really? We could practice duelling, instead. Since, you know, I'm back with the Malfoys and Lucius has something coming to him in a big way." Harry pulled his wand; he was never entirely certain of how he had his wand within his mindscape, but somehow he always did.

"We could, I suppose, but I'm rather attached to my sitting room," Tom said with a small sigh. "Let's check and see if he locked us just into this room, or if we can actually leave and go to areas of your mind that he wouldn't be interested in." Tom wandered over to the door that led to the bare room within Harry's mind that they'd used for duelling practice over the summer, but it was locked.

Harry let out a mournful little sigh. "I guess it's cards, then?" he asked.

"Or chess. But you actually stand a chance at beating me at a card game," Tom said with a smirk.

"I stand more than a chance!" Harry objected, and then they were playing cards as though Harry hadn't just been locked within his mind by a Legilimens of questionable morals. What more could he do, anyway?

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry was forcibly withdrawn from his mind once more it was a jarring and sudden thing. One minute he was busy winning a card game with Tom, the next he was sitting in the small room at the small table, and the blond had his head in his hands. The other, unassuming man that Harry could only assume was Rosiver, had a supporting arm around his shoulders and was murmuring gently, but urgently into Lethfyren's ear. Harry couldn't quite catch what was being said.

Voldemort had settled into the fourth chair at the table at some point in time, and from the shadows deepening throughout the room, Harry could assume that they'd been inside of his mind for quite some time. It was disconcerting to have no idea how much time had passed, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Aside from casting _tempus_, of course, but Tom had already mentioned over the last summer how bad an idea it would be to draw his wand in Voldemort's presence. Harry had no desire to appear as a threat to the Dark Lord.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked. He hoped that the Legilimens had found a way to separate the two of them. He didn't want to lose Tom, after all, even if once they were separated they would no longer hear each other's thoughts. At least Tom would still be alive in that instance.

Lethfyren shook his head once, sharply, and lifted black-rimmed eyes to glare at Harry. "No, I did not find a way to separate you. The two of you are... more closely joined together than anything I'd ever be able to separate. Not without causing severe damage to both of your psyches, at any rate."

"Just to be perfectly clear, if we were to sacrifice the mind of one, would we be able to keep the other in its present state?" Voldemort asked softly, his voice low and thoughtful.

Harry could feel Tom tense within him. ~I won't let him destroy you to remove me,~ Tom hissed, vicious and violent and entirely overprotective.

The emotions made Harry shudder and he closed his eyes against the tide of fury. ~I don't know that's what he wants to do,~ Harry murmured as soothingly as he could. It didn't help that he wasn't entirely sure that he believed that wasn't Voldemort's intention himself.

~It is. He's going to try and take you from me,~ Tom snarled, and Harry could feel the mounting fury in every word that Tom said.

"It isn't possible," Lethfyren said suddenly, flatly, thankfully interrupting before Harry could lose control of his temper. Tom made it almost impossible for Harry to keep his wits about him when he was getting that angry.

Voldemort's eyebrow raised. "You? Admitting that something is impossible when it comes to the mind?" he asked, tone gently mocking.

Lethfyren's lip curled in a sneer. "It doesn't happen often. Don't get used to it. But their minds are already entirely too close to merging for me to be able to separate one from the other. If we tore them apart now, we'd wind up with two halves of a whole no matter how much of the other was sacrificed. As much as it pains me to admit it, separating the two of them simply cannot be done."

"Hmm," Voldemort murmured, then said thoughtfully, "But could it work if-"

He cut off quite abruptly when Lethfyren stood, his chair hitting the ground with a clatter due to the speed of the moment. "Remember my promise to you, Lord Voldemort," the blond snarled. "I will work for you so long as you do not ask me to overstep my own personal boundary. The moment you cross that line, I will end you." Lethfyren paused for a moment, as though to allow the threat to sink in, then said quietly, gently, "You are perilously close to crossing that line as we speak."

He swept from the room, then, his robes billowing and dwarfing his slender frame. "Collin, come," he added over his shoulder, and the unassuming man followed immediately with nothing but a pitying glance in Voldemort's direction.

"That... could have gone better," Voldemort murmured, as though he'd forgotten Harry was in the room.

Before Harry could stop to think about what he was saying he blurted out, "Well don't ask me for sympathy. You were going to have him rip apart my mind!"

Voldemort started, then glowered at him. "You impudent little..." Then he stopped, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Surely you could understand why I would want the part of my soul to remain in this world as opposed to you, a relatively unknown quantity?"

Harry let out a small snort. "Of course I understand, my Lord. But the fact of the matter is that I'm what you've got. And with all due respect, I don't think I'm that much of an unknown quantity. After all, half of me will be made up of part of your soul. And if you don't agree with yourself, well, then you've got more of a problem than any Legilimens can help you with."

Voldemort stared at him from under raised eyebrows, then a smile curled at just the edges of his lips. "You raise an excellent point, child." He nodded once in Harry's direction, then left the room.

"I'm not even entirely sure of what just happened," Harry complained aloud to Tom as they stood alone in the unfamiliar room.

~You just lost your temper with the Dark Lord and won two arguments with him all in one day. I'm not sure what they're calling it these days, but back in my day, we called that a success,~ Tom answered, all trace of anger gone from his tone.

Harry grinned. "It was a success, wasn't it?" he asked, even as he headed off in the general direction of where he hoped his room was. Maybe he would find Draco and see if the other wanted to play some Quidditch or something. It was shaping up to be a lovely day, after all.

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****

A/N: Okay, so this story was going to have another scene, but it was just gratuitous nonsense between Voldemort and Severus, so I cut it. As for review responses, guys, you all know that I love you by now, but I've found that it's just too overwhelming to respond personally to every review and still try to write and still try to maintain my grades. One of these things has to go. I've decided that it should probably be the review responses since I doubt you all want me to stop writing. Which isn't to say that you shouldn't expect to hear from me, because if you have questions I certainly plan on answering them still to the best of my ability. And if I have time I'll definitely respond. But just know that if I don't respond to you, I do still love you all and all of your reviews.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: I forgot to mention this last time, but both Lethfyren and Collin are mine. Please don't use them. I'll be very disappointed if you do. There might even be frowny faces involved. More notes at the bottom.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-

Malfoys were reasonable.

Draco wasn't sure what he'd done, other than, of course, committing the obvious crime of maintaining his friendship with one Ron Weasley. But he knew that he was doing the right thing with regards to that, so why couldn't his father acknowledge that maybe he had the right idea? Maybe what his father considered to be irrational was, in fact, the only rational choice that Draco could have made. After all, if he could bring only one of the Weasley family to the proper side of things, wouldn't that discredit the Weasley family patriarch terribly? And was that not the lifelong goal of his father?

But his father didn't want to hear that, wasn't willing to acknowledge that maybe Draco had a point. But Draco didn't understand why not. After all, above all else, Malfoys were reasonable. So maybe it wasn't that. It couldn't be that. Draco knew that he hadn't done anything irrational in months. Not since... not since the last time he'd had to visit... visit Them. He maintained that he hadn't been irrational at that point in time, anyway. Certainly not unreasonable. Harry was the one who had hugged him. So what if he'd actually enjoyed the gentle touch? But if it wasn't that, then what?

Malfoys did not invite the peasants to touch them.

That had actually gotten him in trouble once before. While he hadn't allowed Harry to hug him, he certainly hadn't pushed him away. And how could he? Harry had been sort of adorable, if the person carrying the Dark Lord's soul could really be counted as adorable. And Draco had enjoyed being hugged, much to his own surprise. He'd never been hugged before. It had been a novel experience.

And he'd already been punished for it, anyway. He'd gone to see Them, and they'd... it had hurt, but he'd paid his dues for enjoying the touch. And he knew that he would never let Harry hug him again, not where anybody could see. He couldn't do that again. But it had been wonderful, hadn't it?

Malfoys were intelligent.

And Draco was! He knew that he was; he knew that he was one of the top students in their class. He was being beaten by a little Mudblood with the plebeian last name of Granger, and by Harry himself. So Draco was actually managing to be third in the class, and it was killing him. But he didn't see... he didn't understand how he could possibly be expected to beat somebody with a much older wizard living inside of his mind and tutoring him. It just wasn't possible.

The Granger girl, well, he wasn't sure how the Mudblood was beating him. It was ridiculous to think that an interloper within their society could be doing better than him. The little chit was good in Potions, but certainly not that good. So how was it that she was beating him in all of their other classes? She wasn't all that intelligent. Book-smarts weren't everything, after all, and her knowledge of their world had to be fairly lacking. Most mudbloods never did manage to gain that base of knowledge in their tradition. Why, the girl probably didn't even know what a Courtship entailed.

So yes, Draco was still third in the class, but he personally thought that was rather impressive. He wasn't ever going to be able to beat Harry, and he thought that his father had accepted that. Perhaps it was because of the Mudblood? That was the only option Draco could think of. Unless, of course, it was something else entirely. But perhaps that was it.

Malfoys have family honor.

Draco had done nothing to shame the family name, unless one were to consider befriending Weasley to count as shaming the family name. Which Draco didn't. If anything, he thought that maybe it showed a side of the Malfoys that hadn't been seen in centuries. Maybe it showed that the Malfoy family could be forgiving towards their enemies. Mercy was a grace that the Malfoy family had long since been missing, at least according to the histories of the family that he'd read.

From what he understood, once upon a time there had been nothing dishonorable about showing mercy to those less fortunate than a Malfoy was. And really, who wasn't less fortunate than the Malfoy family? Certainly Harry wasn't, by most counts, but Draco knew that even Harry would give anything to have a family that actually cared for him and wanted him, despite his near-flawless veneer of nonchalance that he worked so hard to present to the world.

Malfoys are the best at everything they do.

Draco knew that he wasn't. He did. He just wasn't entirely sure that he could do anything about it. It galled him that he was something less than his best at everything, and he worked tirelessly to improve himself, but he knew that he would never manage to beat Harry at pretty much anything. Except for chess, that was, so long as he wasn't playing with the Dark Lord's advice in his mind. And Draco tried his hardest to be his best but... well, his best wasn't the best. And therefore his best was nowhere near good enough for his father. Because, of course, there was both Harry and the Granger chit again. Even in Quidditch, he wasn't anywhere near the best on the team. Oh, he was good, of course, but he wasn't nearly the best. Maybe... maybe that was it? That almost had to be it.

Malfoys bow their head for no one.

Draco wasn't even entirely sure what to think about this one. It wasn't true. It was so painfully obviously not true that it hurt Draco to even think about it. Malfoys had to bow their head to somebody, because otherwise how else could they be the faithful followers of the Dark Lord? But it didn't matter. Draco was confident in the fact that this was not the rule he had broken. The only person he'd bowed his head for recently was the Dark Lord himself, and Draco knew that couldn't be against the rules. After all, his father himself did it.

So what was the answer to the question?

"Did you have any thoughts, son?" his father asked, his voice the dangerous soft and silky that made Draco shiver in fear. "Which rule have you broken that's landed you before me today?"

Draco wasn't sure. He really wasn't. But... there really was only the one viable option. So, with a confidence he didn't quite feel, Draco stated, "A Malfoy is the best at everything they do."

His father let his breath out in a disappointed hiss of air that made Draco cringe. "Draco, Draco, Draco, whatever shall I do with you? Have you not memorized the rules?" his father asked in a chiding tone. "Recite them for me."

Urgently, Draco went through the list of rules aloud. They were stark and uncompromising, just like his father. But his father did this only to help make him a better person. It wasn't as though his father enjoyed this sort of thing. It wasn't. His father was only trying to help him.

"Draco, my dearest Draco, our ancestors are rolling in their graves. You've forgotten the most important rule that a Malfoy must follow," his father said in a pitying tone. "Quickly now, daft child, can you remember what you've forgotten?"

Draco desperately searched his memory. There was no getting out of his punishment, of course, there was nothing he could do to stop the pain that was coming in his direction, but maybe if he was lucky he could remember that which he'd forgotten and perhaps mitigate it a bit?

"Time's up," his father said flatly. "You've disappointed me, child," his father said, and Draco felt the touch his father's fingertips against his cheek as his head was lifted. "The rule," his father said, his face getting very close to Draco's own, "is that a Malfoy must always honor his ancestors. And you've forgotten them in your behavior today. You've brought shame down upon the Malfoy name with your ridiculous insistence on making an ally of the Weasley spawn. I'm afraid, Draco, that I must correct you once more."

Draco had only a moment to consider that he'd never heard that rule in his life when the pain hit him. And hit him again, and again, until he was a shaking, weeping wreck on the floor. He tried his hardest to get his breath back, to stop sobbing so helplessly in the lull between curses, and managed to draw himself back to his knees.

He chanced a look up at his father and found his father's face joyous, rapturous even. It was disturbing, and made even more so when his father chuckled a bit and said quietly, "And oh, look, there's another rule you cannot seem to get right. A Malfoy does not cry, Draco," he said, his tone still silky and now oddly thick with something that Draco had never heard before.

"I didn't... you never taught me that," Draco whispered, his voice a shaky and sodden wreck. His tongue felt swollen, too big for his mouth, and his throat felt like sandpaper when he dared to speak. But his father had never told him either of the rules he was accusing Draco of breaking today. How could Draco expect to follow rules he didn't know existed? That was... that was insane! But, even more importantly, even if it was a rule, "And even if you had, Father, I haven't dishonored my ancestors in any way today," Draco said, his voice a little bit more clear now that a few seconds had passed and he'd caught his breath.

"Oh, so now you dare to tell me that I'm wrong? Draco, darling, you should know by now that a Malfoy does not question their betters," his father said, and now his tone wasn't silky. It was eager, filled with something that made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand on end, and he had only a moment to consider that maybe Harry was right, maybe his father didn't have his best interests at heart, when he heard his father snarl out a gleeful, "_Crucio!_" once more.

And then Draco's pain was so great that he knew nothing more at all.

ooOOooOOoo

When Draco woke once more, he was in his bed in his room and his entire body ached terribly. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but that didn't mean that he was by any means used to it. How could anyone get used to feeling as though their very nerves were on fire?

"Are you alright?" came Harry's soft, calm voice from his bedside. Draco would have recognized Harry's voice anywhere, he thought blearily, no matter what he'd been through. Harry just had one of those easily recognized voices, of course. There certainly wasn't anything to read into that thought.

"Never better," Draco whispered, though his voice was harsh from the screaming he'd done while under his father's hand. He had to close his eyes, then, as the memory of the look on his father's face rushed back to him. His father had been... his father had been happy to be able to punish him. To be able to... torture him.

"Liar," Harry said with a soft chuckle. "Draco, I wish that..." his friend trailed off, then and Draco turned to see a look of utter irritation on his friend's face before Harry visibly fought it down. "I wish that you'd let me help you."

Draco let out a small sigh of his own and reached out, hesitantly, to take Harry's hand. "I wish that I'd let you help me, too," he confessed, his hand spasming on Harry's, clenching the other's fingers tightly.

Harry's bright green eyes darted up and he suddenly looked far older than his years. "When you're ready," Harry said softly, quietly, those green eyes going red around the edges in what should have been terrifying but was really only comforting to Draco. "When you're ready, I swear, I'll end him for you."

Draco closed his eyes and tried his hardest not to cry. He'd never had a friend like Harry. Not just in that Harry had the soul of the Dark Lord inside of him, but in that Harry was so very loyal. Draco had no doubt that Harry would do just that when the time was right, and Draco was entirely unsure whether he was comforted or disturbed by the knowledge. He supposed that probably meant that he wasn't ready. But...

"You were right, you know," Draco whispered. He had to clear his throat a few times, and Harry handed him a half-full glass of water. Even with it only being halfway filled, Draco's hands shook so badly that it still very nearly sloshed over the side when he tipped it to take a few desperate gulps.

"I'm always right. It's a failing," Harry said softly, lightly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

It worked, at least a little bit, and Draco hesitantly offered him a smile. "He doesn't really have my best interests at heart," he confessed, and it hurt him so much to say those words aloud.

"Like I said: Just say the words," Harry said easily, though his fingers tightened on Draco's own.

Draco simply closed his eyes. He couldn't say the words just yet; he was in no way ready to try. But for the first time ever, it seemed like maybe someday he would have to say the words. And maybe on that day it wouldn't be nearly so hard to say them as he'd always thought it would be. Maybe there was a part of him that would enjoy seeing his father die as much as his father had enjoyed torturing him.

And didn't that make him every bit as bad as his father?

ooOOooOOoo

With both Draco and Harry off visiting the Malfoys, Ron's Christmas morning was quiet and calm. Especially considering that neither Theo nor Blaise had stayed, leaving Ron entirely alone in his dorm. It was nice in some ways, but in others it was disconcerting to be alone in the dorm.

He frowned at his pile of Christmas presents. It was small, of course. Being a Weasley generally meant that the other Slytherins were hesitant to approach him in friendship, thus, he was entirely unsurprised to not receive gifts from his yearmates for his second Christmas as a Slytherin. But... there was an extra gift there, other than the ones from Harry and Draco and presumably his parents.

He wondered who could have sent to him, then shrugged, hopped out of bed, and settled on the floor by his presents. He'd find out soon enough, of course. He opened the one from his parents, first, and frowned. There was the traditional Weasley family sweater, of course, and there was a note attached. A part of Ron sort of wanted to tear the note up before he even read it, but he knew that wasn't necessarily a wise idea. Yes, he was young and as such he could get away with a little bit of impulsive rashness for now, but the time was approaching when that wouldn't work. So it was better not to get into the habit of indulging his impulses now, wasn't it? Especially if he was headed in the direction that he was pretty sure he was headed in. The Dark Lord did not reward impulsiveness. And Ron had already decided that if he actually was headed towards being a Death Eater, he wasn't going to do something stupid and get himself tortured to death. No, he'd be the best Death Eater there ever was.

So, as reluctant as he was to read the letter from his parents, Ron opened the envelope and pulled the letter out.

_Dear Ron,_

_Your mother and I are beginning to grow concerned with reports we're hearing from your siblings. We understand that last year you didn't have much time to spend with them, and certainly with you on the house Quidditch team this year we didn't expect you to have any more free time, but your sister has mentioned that you were rather cruel to her when she approached you for some help with her own Quidditch skills._

_Ron, we didn't raise you to behave in this way. Once again, we'd like to insist that you cease associating with the Malfoy brat and begin making friends more appropriate to your status as a Weasley. We cannot compromise our family honor, Ron, and both your mother and I believe that you know that by now. We have good reason for continuing our feud with the Malfoys and for you to continue associating with the Malfoy spawn flies in the face of all that we have taught you._

_We hope to hear more favorable reports from your siblings soon. Until we do, we'll be cutting off the allowance we've been sending. If you will not behave as expected of a Weasley, you will not receive the things you are due as a Weasley. Please, son, don't force this issue._

_With all of our love,_

_Your parents_

Ron closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the paper up and throw it back in his sister's face. He wanted... he wanted to do a lot of things, and none of those things would be wise. They wouldn't get him anywhere. So, with exaggerated calm, he settled the paper on the floor next to him and moved on to the gift from Harry.

Harry's gift to him was a peculiar one. It was a wand holster with a myriad of charms on them, most of which Ron had no idea what they meant or what they were for. It was a lovely gift, but oddly impersonal. Ron wondered if he'd done something to offend Harry, but then he found a note attached.

_Ron,_

_I know that this really isn't much compared to what I gave you last year, so I'm going to go ahead and level with you if I may. I've had quite a lot on my mind for these past few weeks, so I kind of forgot about Christmas. But this is a practical gift, and what I intend to give you over the summer is even more so. I know that you use an old family wand, and I wanted to do something about that. But I can't actually purchase you a new wand without you being present, so consider the holster a somewhat useful placeholder until I can get you out to Diagon Alley with me._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Harry_

Ron smiled. Harry was... something else, certainly. He'd never expected when he'd come to Hogwarts that he'd meet Harry Potter, or that he would be so... so very different from the way that Ron had always imagined him to be. But no matter how different from how Ron had expected him to be, no matter how much friction his very presence was causing between him and his family, Ron was so fiercely glad that he'd made friends with Harry. Because Harry was absolutely fantastic.

Draco's gift, too, contained a note. It was a similar transporter to the one he'd used last year, and Ron suspected that Draco had pretty much done the same thing that he'd done last year. But he didn't want to tap the disk without reading the note, if only because that would be rude. Besides, what if it turned out that wasn't what Draco had done?

_Weasley,_

_I suppose I'm fortunate that we're all so young as it makes Christmas shopping for both you and Harry perpetually easy. My gift is much like the one I gave you last year, save that the sizes are larger. Please, by all means, keep growing. It makes Christmas infinitely easier._

_Merry Christmas, Draco._

Ron smiled and tapped the transporter. As had happened last year, his bed was quite suddenly buried under a mountain of clothing. He would sort it all out later. For now, there was still the very peculiar and mysterious fourth gift to open. He was much more cautious with this one, considering the options available for the gifter to be. Of course, if the gift was a twisted prank from the twins, Ron was pretty sure that there wasn't much he could do to avoid the prank other than not opening the gift.

Tentatively, hesitantly, he opened the small box and hoped that whatever it was, if it was from the twins, it wouldn't be painful. Then again, their pranks were generally less painful and more entertaining. When their victim wasn't a Slytherin who had gotten them a Howler in his first year at Hogwarts. But no, there was no note with the gift, unless the note was in the small box. But... no.

The box was empty save for a softly cushioned locket in what looked like Slytherin silver with an emerald snake on the front. Ron stared down at it, frozen. Further, hesitant examination of the locket revealed that it was not silver, but was in fact white gold of the highest quality, and the serpent was actually made of several different precious stones, all in varying shades of green. He didn't know enough about them to know for sure which stones were which.

He'd never expected... never anticipated... who had sent this? It was... he let his breath out in a soft, startled sigh. He could be wrong, of course. He could be making a big deal out of nothing. He had to be making a big deal out of nothing. He reached out, hesitantly, and touched the locket. Immediately he was enveloped with a feeling of warmth and affection and he closed his eyes as he forced himself to withdraw his hands. This was the first step in a traditional Pureblood Courtship. He was... he was twelve years old, for Merlin's sake, who was Courting him? And then he took a deep breath and let it out because, yeah, that was the earliest a Courtship could begin. Somebody was just getting in on the ground floor, as it were. Somebody out there had seen that he had potential.

The options were few and far between, of course, for all that whoever this was intended to remain anonymous. There were only so many Purebloods that would bother to Court a Weasley, even if he was currently very far out of favor with his family. For that matter, these days, there were only so many Purebloods that bothered with formal Courtships to begin with. Ron wasn't even entirely sure he knew all the rules of Courtship. It certainly wasn't something his parents had ever taught him.

There was one thing that he knew, however. Accepting this first gift, wearing it in public, indicated only a willingness to consider the Courtship. There would be several more steps involved before Ron had to worry about locking himself into anything. So there wasn't any harm in wearing the locket. But... did he really want to do this? Somehow he knew that his parents would never approve of a formal Courtship.

What they didn't know wouldn't hurt him. With little more deliberation, Ron placed the locket around his neck. It was a trifle girly, but that was the first step in Courtship for you. It was always some form of jewelry, the more expensive indicated a higher favor, and it always contained charms that would let the person touching it know of the Suitor's regard for their Intended. If he ever fell out of favor, the locket would let him know.

His stomach growled, then, reminding Ron that he hadn't eaten anything yet today. That thought in mind, he made his way down to the nearly-empty Great Hall to eat something before he fainted from hunger. He was, after all, as Draco was fond of pointing out, a growing boy. And he ate quite a lot.

ooOOooOOoo

It was after Christmas dinner when Fred and George approached him. "Why don't you-"

"-come with us?" they asked, and Ron's arms were grabbed before he had a chance to protest. Ron didn't particularly want to go with them, but a glance at the Head Table showed only fond smiles of indulgence from the teachers. Ron supposed he could have kicked up a fuss, but it wasn't worth all that. Not really. They wouldn't dare to hurt him when all of the Professors had seen them leave the Great Hall together.

Ron found himself shortly thereafter in the library, all four of his siblings present at Hogwarts present in the library as well. "What's up?" he asked casually. He shoved his hands in his pockets and thanked Merlin that he'd had the foresight to tuck his new locket under his shirt. That would be just one less thing for them to hassle him about.

"Our parents wanted us to try and spend more time with you, Ron," Percy said stiffly. "They seem to be concerned that you're falling to some more unsavory influences."

Ron let out a small sigh. "Unsavory influences that bring me to do things like running to Mum and Dad because my best friend isn't willing to give you the time of day?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in Ginny's direction.

She had the grace to flush. "It wasn't that Harry wasn't willing to talk to me, it was that you weren't helpful at all! You could have at least said something nice in my defense!" she protested with a toss of her long hair.

Ron shook his head. "If you think that a good word from me sways Harry on anything then you're out of your mind," he said quietly. "Harry makes his own opinions, he always has. And honestly, why should I tell him to teach you about Quidditch when you're going to wind up on the rival team?" That was actually a blatant lie. He was pretty sure that if he'd asked, Harry would have been... well, he wouldn't have been happy, but he probably would have lended Ginny a few moments. The thing was, Ron hadn't been about to ask.

"It would just be for fun!" Ginny protested.

"Whatever," Ron shot back, done with the conversation. "And for the rest of you, well, I find it fascinating that none of you have bothered to say anything to me before now." He spoke quietly and calmly, forcing his temper down. He wanted to yell, to scream, to accuse them of not caring about him at all, of being willing to sacrifice him in exactly the same way that his parents were. But it wouldn't do any good, so he bit his lip.

"We haven't really apologized for what we did to you last Halloween," one of the twins, Fred, Ron thought, said suddenly.

"We weren't really sure how to do so," George added. "Because Mum and Dad were right. We could have gotten you killed. And we didn't mean to do that. We're sorry, Ron."

"Yeah, really sorry," Fred said softly, "And that's the reason we pulled you out of the Great Hall. Not because Mum and Dad are demanding that we talk to you or anything stupid like that, but because we owed you an apology."

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. "Apology accepted," Ron said softly, graciously. He could afford to be gracious, after all. He'd just gotten what he wanted from them. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some studying to do. So it's just as well that you brought me to the library."

"You're going to study on Christmas day?" Percy asked, shocked.

Ron smiled mirthlessly. "I'm fifth in my class, Percy. I'd like to maintain that rank as much as I can, and it isn't easy. Not to mention I was given a Christmas gift that requires a bit of research. So if you'll excuse me?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question as he brushed by his brothers and headed further into the library.

Neither his brothers nor his sister followed him further in.

ooOOooOOoo

One of the books was missing from his office. He wasn't entirely sure which one as he hadn't yet had time to catalogue the tomes within his office, but he knew that one of them was missing. A ward had been tripped twice, and no more, which meant that whomever had managed to sneak into his office had found whatever it was that they were looking for. He did know that it wasn't one of his gadgets that had been taken; he'd gone through all of them quite swiftly. After all, he had some very dangerous toys in his care.

Albus let out a small sigh. On top of that, three of his students had been Petrified this year and he was no closer with these two new victims to figuring it out than he had been before they'd been Petrified in the first place. Obviously whoever was responsible had found their way into the Chamber of Secrets and had unleashed the basilisk once more, but Albus was still nowhere near figuring out where the Chamber was hidden within Hogwarts. It was most frustrating.

And on top of all of that, Harry was with the Malfoys again. He knew that it wasn't the boy's fault that he'd fallen in with such a bad crowd, but Albus just couldn't understand the appeal of Draco Malfoy to the boy. They should be at each other's throats, not spending holidays at each other's houses. Although, to be perfectly fair, he doubted that Draco had visited the Dursley house at any point in time. But still... Draco should have been busy sneering at Harry's hand-me-downs, not purchasing him an entire new wardrobe. It was utterly infuriating.

Where had he gone wrong with the boy? If he could only figure that out, things would be so much better!

And then, of course, to top off his miserable year, the Board of Governors was making an inquiry into the three Petrified students. There was concern that somehow Hagrid was responsible, and while Albus had managed to quiet the grumblings he wasn't entirely certain that he would be able to should the basilisk strike again.

The entire mess smelled foul to Albus. Somebody was trying to lead him on a wild chase and he had his suspicions that it was Voldemort himself. He certainly hoped that the Dark Lord had no true supporters within Hogwarts. He was confident in his teaching staff, and relatively confident that none of his students now bore the Dark Mark.

There was nothing to be done for it now, he supposed. The castle was quiet and whoever was behind the attacks, if they were even still at the school for Christmas, would no doubt not strike while there were so few students available to take the blame.

He would just have to try and figure the whole mess out once the majority of the student body returned, that was all.

* * *

**A/N (Mark Two): Guys (and girls), let me begin with a sincere apology. I had no idea how hard it would be to juggle college and work and life when the schoolwork really got going. And then there was this hurricane, and work being unreasonable, and it all sort of got away from me. It didn't help that we're right in the middle of my least favorite part of Book One, which is the transition period. But, NaNoWriMo revitalized me, and I've got six chapters written. Granted, they were written during NaNo so there might be some lingering imperfections, so I'll be posting them probably once a week while I get them nice and shiny for you all.**

**We're headed for exciting times in Heir, as you may or may not be able to tell, and I hope that you all enjoy the way we're going. I look forward to hearing from you all once more, and again, I apologize for waiting so long with this update.**


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-One

Severus had made his excuses and, between Christmas and New Year, before the children could return for the year, he slipped away to visit with his Lord. To Dumbledore he had simply given the excuse that he was working with a potentially deadly potion and he would prefer to be allowed to research somewhere far from where he could injure a student. Dumbledore, to Severus' amusement, had agreed readily. It appeared he could not deal with the possibility of yet another student injury during this school year.

Severus couldn't blame him. Rumor among the staff was that dear Albus was dealing with quite a few inquiries from the Board, not to mention pressure from the Ministry to allow Aurors to search the school. He couldn't help the smirk that slipped onto his face at the thought of Albus scrambling to think up reasons why Aurors shouldn't search the school. His aversion to allowing the Ministry any sort of involvement in Hogwarts was almost legendary, after all.

Despite it being his least favorite way to travel, he Portkeyed to Spinner's End, and then calmly Flooed to Malfoy Manor. He stepped out of the fireplace gracefully, nodded once at the house elf that came to greet whoever had arrived, and stalked off in the direction of his Lord's private suite. On the way he ran into Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, the younger, sitting in a room off his Lord's hallway, both giggling softly, their heads bowed together in what was no doubt an unholy plan concocted for the sole purpose of giving Severus gray hairs.

Severus rolled his eyes and continued on, not bothering to stop and greet them. Really, it was ridiculous how close the two of them were. He certainly hoped that Lucius wasn't enamored of the marriage contract he'd drawn up with the Parkinson family. There was no way that was going to stand. If it did, Severus would kiss a werewolf.

"What are you rolling your eyes at?" his Lord asked when Severus stepped into the study and closed the door.

"The thought of young Draco actually marrying the Parkinson girl," he answered promptly. "It's painfully obvious that he's quite enamored with Harry. And Harry is so very protective of the boy that it's impossible to think he doesn't feel the same."

"Hmm," the Dark Lord hummed noncommittally. "You could be right, I suppose, but there will still be the matter of heirs for both lines to address." He shrugged, then, and offered Severus a fairly rare smile. "So, how is the boy doing with his task? Does Dumbledore suspect him of anything?"

Severus smirked. "At this juncture, no. He has not said anything about a missing book so I am uncertain as to whether he's noticed it gone or not. And as for Harry, well, he has done a fantastic job of picking his victims. There is absolutely no connection between the three of them, other than that his last two were apparently paired together as tutor and pupil by Flitwick. And he has left no trace of himself at the scene of the crime. Albus either doesn't suspect him or does not wish to suspect him; either way it plays in our favor."

The Dark Lord relaxed just a bit. "I am very glad to hear that," he murmured, and set his quill down. He stood, then, and crossed the room to Severus' side. "I do so love it when you bring me good news," he murmured.

"You do so love it when I bring you any news, be it good or bad," Severus dared to point out dryly.

The Dark Lord chuckled softly and murmured to him, "Yes, I suppose I do, don't I?" he asked as he folded Severus into his arms.

Severus let his eyes flutter closed and basked in the simple closeness of his Lord. He was at peace, here with his Lord, no matter what might come his way. If he could have just this every now and again, he imagined that he would be able to handle anything.

And then his Lord was kissing him, and Severus allowed himself to thrill in the knowledge once more that his Lord had risen, that he was whole and sound of mind once more, and that Death himself was no match for his Lord, so how could any mortal being hope to be?

Life was fantastic.

ooOOooOOoo

It was on the train ride back to Hogwarts that Harry figured out one of the clues that he'd been missing for quite some time. Harry had been bored out of his mind, fidgeting with the strangely masculine necklace Draco had given him for Christmas, and Draco had been curled up on his seat, halfway asleep, when the two thuggish Gryffindors that doubtlessly belonged in Slytherin had shown up.

"Malfoy," one grunted, and Draco's eyes had flown open. He'd looked panicked, but had willingly left with them.

~You have to be kidding me,~ Harry hissed to Tom, his temper rising. He couldn't believe that he hadn't come up with this sooner. How had he missed it? ~It isn't enough that his father tortures him at home, but he has children at the school do it as well? Doesn't he hurt Draco enough?~ His finger clenched on his wand and he went to stand.

~Don't!~ Tom said sharply. ~You've already gotten him to admit that maybe, just maybe his father doesn't have his best interests at heart. Do you really want to push it now, when pushing might lead only to him shutting you out entirely? I think that you already know which tactic would be best at this juncture.~

Harry let out a snarl but relaxed into his seat and allowed his head to thunk back against the head cushion. ~You're right,~ he muttered. ~But I swear that once he gives me the okay I'm going to end them all.~ He could feel Tom's hesitance to speak and it made him frown. ~What?~ he asked, defensively.

~It's just that... I'm concerned,~ Tom sent to him quietly, his mental voice barely a whisper.

~Concerned? About Draco? Because I absolutely am as well. I want to... I just want him to be safe. Is that really so much to ask?~ Harry asked plaintively. ~He's been my best friend for so long and he's just... he's been fantastic. He didn't even make fun of me when I was busy pretending not to understand the wizarding world.~

~Of course I'm concerned about Draco as well, but Harry, I was referring to you. Haven't you noticed that you've gotten a bit more... bloodthirsty when it comes to your concern for him?~ Tom asked delicately. ~It concerns me because your first thought never used to be to kill. And now... now it seems as though you can't wait to be given the okay.~

Harry let out a small sigh. He could see where Tom was coming from, of course, and if he were going to be honest, he knew that Tom was right. It was a concerning thing, this sort of bloodthirsty behavior he was exhibiting. But... ~If Severus were being tortured, wouldn't you want to murder whoever was responsible?~ Harry asked quietly.

Tom was silent for several moments. Harry could feel the spirit deliberating within him until finally, gently, Tom pointed out, ~But Harry, Severus is my lover. He and I were as committed to one another as we could be. The situations would be entirely different. Also, I am the Dark Lord. Was, I should say. The utter destruction of those that would hurt my own was not just a passing fancy for me, it was practically a job requirement. You are not the Dark Lord, and Draco is not your lover.~

Harry frowned. ~Of course not. I'm only twelve. I don't even know if he likes boys. I don't even know if I like boys, for that matter.~ But all of his frivolity aside, he could see Tom's point. ~So what do you want me to do? Because I can't just sit here and pretend like I don't want to murder all those people that hurt him. Because I do, Tom, I really, really do.~

~I can feel how much you really, really do,~ Tom said dryly, ~and it's bringing up some memories for me. I just... try to keep the wishing for bloodshed to a minimum? The time will come soon enough when I won't be around to stop you and when you'll have all of my impulses and knowledge at your fingertips. Until then, maybe let me at least pretend like I'm doing all of the real dirty work?~

Harry shivered as Tom once again brought up the fact that he was dying. Harry hated it when Tom brought that up and fought down a snarl. He didn't want to be alone in his own head; he really didn't. He hadn't been alone since he was six years old; how was he going to live without Tom's voice in his head? He didn't know.

~I'll try,~ was all that he said to Tom. He couldn't really deny the man the right to try and protect him a little bit longer.

Just then, Draco came back into the car, his skin pale and clammy, his hands trembling, his eyes unfocused. "How long until we reach Hogwarts?" Draco asked, his voice hoarse, no doubt from screaming.

Harry fought with the rage that welled within him and said softly, gently, "At least an hour more. Did you want to rest?" he asked, and Draco nodded once, tiredly. "I'll keep watch and wake you in time to put yourself back together."

"You're a true friend, Harry," Draco whispered, and collapsed into his seat, his eyes fluttering shut before he'd even settled entirely in his seat. He was unconscious within moments.

Harry closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. ~I will kill them, Tom. One way or another, whether it's you in control of me or myself, I will kill them.~

~I understand,~ Tom sent back, and for the first time since they'd started this conversation, Harry thought that maybe Tom did.

ooOOooOOoo

Time, as time tended to do, passed quickly once they'd made it back to Hogwarts. Ron was oddly quiet most of the time, his hand coming up to play with something that he kept hidden under his shirt. Draco was standoffish, but Harry couldn't particularly blame him considering that somebody within the school was torturing him on his father's command. And Harry wasn't stupid; he knew that whoever was torturing Draco wasn't just the two idiots in Gryffindor. That would have been far too obvious. And, of course, there was school and Quidditch to eat up his time, and before he knew it, it was time for his fourth victim to be taken.

He chose a date that was entirely insignificant to everybody a few days before Valentine's Day. Neville Longbottom was, as he'd suspected, pathetically easy to catch in his trap. And, even better, he managed to spring his trap in a mostly unused area of the castle, so he had time to write another message on the wall. This one would be slightly more lengthy, but then, considering the new circumstances, it had to be. He had fun scrawling it across the walls of the school and was planning on Charming it to be unremovable once it was finished. At least, until somebody figured out which Charm he used to successfully counter it.

Tom was laughing at him, this time, rather than loudly lamenting the fact that Harry was yet again doing something melodramatic and entirely unnecessary. ~You're cruel, Harry,~ Tom said between his snickers.

~Yes? And Longbottom's an idiot. We knew this. Now I'm making sure that the rest of the wizarding world knows this as well,~ Harry fairly sang back.

But he was glad when he finally heard Neville coming this way. Saliss had been getting a bit bored while waiting, and Harry was getting more than a little bit tired of the sing-song hissing the snake had started to indulge in. Harry had promised him, after all, that he'd actually be allowed to kill somebody, possibly even eat them, before the year was out. It had made the basilisk quite gleeful.

Harry was glad that he had remained hidden under his Invisibility Cloak and stopped actually writing on the walls when he'd heard Neville's footsteps because the boy showed up within seconds of the first sound of his steps upon the stone of the castle floor. Once he'd been Petrified, and once Saliss had been sent grumbling back into the pipes, Harry finished scrawling his message on the castle wall and practically skipped away. It was a beautiful day.

Now he just had to figure out what Ron was hiding and convince Draco to help him off Lockhart. Well, and more importantly convince Draco to let him off his father. Two out of three of those tasks shouldn't be too hard, right?

ooOOooOOoo

Severus could barely hold in his laughter as he studied the message the brat had written on the walls of the castle. And how brilliantly and subtly he'd deflected suspicion from himself this time, using a NEWT level charm to keep the paint from being removed. It would take months to take down because the only way it could be removed was the Muggle way, and even that only after a solid month of waiting. Harry had been quite brilliant this time, he was almost ashamed to admit.

And the message! Oh, how cruel it was, and yet, it said everything that Tom himself would have wanted to say in a message to Dumbledore.

Here lies an idiot, it read bluntly. This one suffers for his stupidity. He is a waste of his Pure blood. We are disgusted with him and his kind. Will you, too, suffer for you foolishness? The Dark is coming. Will you be on the right side?

"Can we remove this, Filius?" the Headmaster was asking tiredly, his aged hand rubbing irritably at the bridge of his nose. His glasses were in his other hand and he looked incredibly old just then.

As Severus had known, Filius shook his head. "It will take a while. Whoever our... writer is, they've used a very powerful Charm to keep the words in place. It will have to be done the Muggle way, and that can only be done after a full lunar cycle has past. It will take that long for the magic in the Charm to degrade. If the caster was very powerful, it could take even longer."

"See what you can do with this, then. Maybe we could use a sheet to cover it?" Albus asked, sounding incredibly defeated.

Severus wasn't fooled. If the cagey bastard sounded defeated, it was for a reason. Perhaps he was thinking that the person controlling the basilisk was on his staff? It seemed a longshot, but that was all that Severus could think of. Instead, he offered, "Shall I take the Longbottom boy to the infirmary to stay with the rest of the victims?"

Albus offered him a tired smile. "Why don't you do that, Severus? Thank you. As for the rest of you, I'd like to search the hallway for clues once more."

Severus could hear the grumblings of the other professors even as he gently levitated the Longbottom brat. Minerva, in particular, sounded quite frustrated. "Albus, please, we haven't found anything in the other two attack sites, what makes you think we will this time? I think it's high time we allow the Aurors to search the school."

"Now, Minerva, let's not be rash. We might find something this time," Albus soothed.

"We won't, Albus," Sprout said quietly, resignedly. "We haven't before, and if we were going to find something, it would have been the first or second time we searched this site. No, I'm with Minerva on this one."

"As am I," Flitwick said. "This is getting out of hand, Albus. We've got four students Petrified and we're nowhere near catching the culprit!"

"And you, Severus?" Albus finally said. "Care to weigh in before you take poor Neville off to see Poppy?"

Severus paused in his slow trek down the hallway and finally turned to offer the Headmaster a tired smile. "Frankly, sir, I just want the culprit caught. If you think the Aurors will help with that, then by all means call them in. But I doubt there's anything we can do short of dousing the entire student body with Veritaserum."

"Oh, Severus, don't tempt me!" Albus said with a chuckle. "Ahh, perhaps you are all right. Let me see what I can do about contacting the Ministry, then."

Severus continued on his way and fought to keep the smirk off his face. If there was one person the idiots in the Ministry would never suspect, it was the Boy Who Lived. And on top of that, if the Aurors were busy here at Hogwarts, well, that just meant that things would be all that much easier for his Lord, wouldn't they?

Severus really hated to admit it, but Harry did know how to get the Light side of things all worked into a frenzy, didn't he?

ooOOooOOoo

Harry wished, as he sat in the nauseating Great Hall, that he didn't have to wait to use his final attack until after the year was truly over. He wanted to kill Lockhart right then and there. He didn't even particularly care about going to Azkaban. He wanted to bring Saliss right here, to the Great Hall, have him slither up to the Head Table, and eat the idiot right there in front of all the students. He didn't even imagine he'd go to Azkaban for it. The pink had driven him to it.

"Cheer up, Harry. It can't possibly be all that bad," Draco said softly. "It isn't as though any fangirls will dare approach you after the way you cut down Weaselette earlier in the year."

Ron snorted pumpkin juice and, once his coughing had died down, said, "I should probably have something to say about your clever insult of my last name and my little sister," in a thoughtful tone of voice. "But really, no, that was great. You're terrible, but that was great."

"I don't know. The dwarfs might just tempt a few of them to send Harry things," Zabini said, a humorous glint in his eyes.

Harry glared. "Or it might tempt obnoxious little boys to send me them and pretend like they're from fangirls, just to annoy me," he challenged.

Zabini lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I'm sure that could happen as well," the other boy agreed. "I know that, were I the type to play pranks, I would no doubt take advantage of this scintillating opportunity."

Harry's glare, if possible, hardened. "Don't think for a moment that I won't know who to blame when I get a slew of anonymous valentines from the dwarf brigade," he hissed, and Zabini only laughed at him before sauntering away from the table as though he hadn't a care in the world.

After he received his first of what would doubtlessly be many dwarven Valentines, Harry decided that he quite rightly hated this Valentine's Day, and he hated Lockhart for setting this disaster waiting to happen up in the first place. But Ron was laughing so hard he was almost crying, and Draco finally had some semblance of a smile on his face, so Harry supposed he wouldn't be able to hold too much of a grudge against Lockhart. Not when Draco was finally smiling, at any rate.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was hiding with Draco in the boy's dormitory early in the afternoon. Due to the chaos of the dwarfs running everywhere, even into classes in progress, the Headmaster had cheerfully cancelled classes for the day so that they could all 'enjoy' Professor Lockhart's kind efforts. Harry thought that maybe it was because he wanted to hide from the dwarfs himself, since he'd seen a few of them stalking the Headmaster during lunch while the Headmaster was making his announcement.

"I'm going to kill Lockhart so very hard," Harry announced to Draco quite abruptly. They were alone up there as Theo and Blaise both seemed more entertained by the dwarfs then frightened of them, and Ron was who knew where doing who knew what. Harry really wanted to know what had changed for the other over Christmas and he hoped that it wasn't something like Ron deciding that he didn't want to be his friend after all. It wasn't that Harry couldn't understand if that was the decision that Ron made, after all, family first, but he would still be pretty much devastated.

"Harry, you can't just kill the man because he made it possible for you to be tackled by a dwarf," Draco said tiredly. "And besides, weren't you supposed to stick with not killing for this task that our Lord assigned to you?" And then the slender little blond frowned and he added, "And weren't you supposed to stick with Mudbloods? I mean, I can't imagine that our Lord will mind terribly that you made an example of one of his least favorite family lines, but still..."

"Oh, I didn't get a chance to tell you. We renegotiated the terms of my attacks," Harry said cheerfully. "And now I am allowed to kill Lockhart as my final victim. I just have to make sure that I wait until exams are over to do it, that's all." He frowned. "Although I wonder if our Lord would be too upset if I went ahead and did it now. I mean, the torture we just went through..."

~Harry,~ Tom sent wearily. ~Please, try not to get yourself tortured and killed for deliberately disobeying the Dark Lord's commands.~ He could feel Tom practically pacing inside his head.

Harry smiled and said, ~Relax. I'm not actually going to take Lockhart until the time that Voldemort and I agreed upon. I don't actually want to be tortured, you know.~

~Sometimes I don't know with the way you misbehave,~ Tom sent back, fondly exasperated.

"Done talking to Tom?" Draco asked after a moment of silence.

"Sorry, yes," Harry said, and offered Draco a smile. "What was it that you were saying?"

"I was saying that I was surprised that you wanted to kill anybody. I thought that... well, nevermind what I thought. Are you really looking forward to it all that much?" Draco asked.

"After today, yes, yes I am," Harry answered. "And I don't even think that, after today, I would go to Azkaban if I were caught. I think that they would give me an Order of Merlin for getting rid of the idiot."

Draco snorted softly. "So how were you going to do it, then? I assume you have some sort of plan?" He stood and stretched and wandered over to sit on Harry's bed with him.

Harry blushed a bit, but rolled onto his back and looked up at Draco. "I was thinking of having Saliss come up and eat him right in the middle of the Great Hall. What do you think? As long as there aren't any quick thinkers that manage to conjure up a rooster, he should even manage to make it back to the Chamber just fine before anybody can think of what to do to stop him."

There was a snort from the door and both Harry and Draco froze before turning startled eyes in the direction of said door. Ron was there, leaning against the doorway, shaking his head. There was a small smile on his face. "You two should really be more careful with what you talk about and where you talk about it. This is the second time I've heard you discussing the task that the Dark Lord gave you."

Harry's breath left him in a shaky sigh. His finger crept towards his wand, though he certainly hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Ron was his friend, absolutely, but Harry wouldn't hesitate to Obliviate him if he had to. He couldn't afford to hesitate. Besides, it wasn't as though he couldn't still work on Ron's loyalties once he'd been Obliviated. It would just be a temporary thing while Harry taught him the error of his ways, that was all.

"And what are you going to do with your knowledge, Weasley?" Draco asked haughtily, as though he and Harry hadn't both just been caught conspiring to murder a professor.

Ron smiled and shook his head. "You really have to ask me that? I've known all along who was behind the basilisk attacks and I haven't said anything, have I?" the redhead asked, coming further into the room. "I'm not planning on saying anything about this, either, to be perfectly honest. I figure if I..." He stopped, then, and shook his head, the easy smile falling off of his face.

Harry sat up, then, though he did stop reaching for his wand. "What?" Harry asked, curious. Could this have something to do with whatever it was that happened over the summer that Ron had refused to talk about? Maybe he was finally going to find out just why Ron had been so quiet when they'd first arrived back at Hogwarts.

"My parents..." Ron stopped, shook his head once, and said quietly, "Let's just say that I'm relatively sure that there's a break coming between my family and I. My parents were willing to throw me away and I know that..." Ron stopped once more and had to clear his throat to keep going. "I know that you wouldn't just throw me away like that, so long as I'm loyal."

Harry closed his eyes and fought down a gleeful smile. He'd been right about his friend all along. He'd known that Ron would come through for him. He'd known it. He spared a single thought for a joyous, ~I told you so,~ to Tom, and then he said quietly, "And what else do you know that I didn't realize you did?"

Ron hesitated, then came even further into the room. He settled lightly onto his bed, as though preparing to run at any moment. "I know that you have some sort of link to the Dark Lord, and that you talk to him late at night when you think nobody's listening," he finally offered.

Harry started. "You... you heard that?" he squeaked. He knew exactly which time Ron was talking about and he flushed with embarrassment. The knowledge that one of his friends had heard him being all upset about his dream over Tom and the Professor was a little bit disconcerting, to say the least.

Ron nodded. "I did. I... is it through your curse scar?" he asked, and then shook his head. "Never mind, don't answer that if you don't want to. I shouldn't pry; I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. It's... sort of through the curse scar. It's a bit complicated, though. It isn't actually the current Dark Lord that I'm speaking to." Harry stopped, thought about what he was saying, waited for Draco to stop laughing at him, then said quietly, "You know what? We're just going to go with, 'it's through my curse scar'. How does that sound?"

Ron frowned at him. And then, quietly, he pointed out, "I've never heard of any magic that makes such a thing possible. Which isn't, of course, to say that I've heard of all magic, but it seems to me that if such an ability existed, the majority of the wizarding world would have heard about it. Telepathy is something that's been sought after for many years."

Harry shook his head. "I meant what I said; I'm not talking to the current Dark Lord. When he tried to kill me when I was a baby, he left a portion of his soul behind inside of me. That piece of his soul woke when I was six years old and has been protecting me and teaching me ever since."

Ron's nose wrinkled. "That's kinda weird," he muttered. "And it doesn't exactly sound healthy for you to have a piece of somebody else's soul inside of you."

Harry shrugged. "I've been this way since I was six, and according to the Mind-Healer, its too late to separate us," he said with some finality. This part of the conversation was over. Now Harry felt more than comfortable enough to say, "Alright, so you know my secrets. Tell me one of yours. What's under the shirt?" he asked bluntly.

"My chest is, Harry," Ron shot back, his cheeks flushing violently.

"Oh, no, I'm with Harry, here. What exactly did you get for Christmas that you feel the need to hide from us, your two best friends?" Draco asked, standing and walking over to sit next to Ron on the bed.

"Two best friends? I can barely even get you to call me by my name!" Ron protested and shifted away. "I mean, sure, I'll give you that you're both closer to me than anybody else, but-"

"Okay, Ron, so what's under the shirt?" Draco asked easily.

"Oh, so I switch my loyalties to the Dark and now all of a sudden you'll call me by my first name?" Ron asked, and hopped off the bed when Draco moved to grab at his shirt. "I mean, weren't you both just planning something? Didn't you need to focus on that?"

Harry shrugged. "Meh. I'll assume that I've got both yours and Draco's help planning the main event. And I have a few months before I'm even allowed to kill the guy. So no, you're really the most interesting thing in the room at the moment."

Ron let out a sigh and seemed to realize that he wasn't going to get anywhere with arguing the two of them into dropping the subject. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a heart locket with an emerald snake on the front. To Harry the locket meant absolutely nothing but it apparently meant something to both Draco and Tom because both let out startled noises.

"Pardon my Muggle-ness, but does anybody want to tell me what's so awesome about a really girly necklace?" Harry asked, curious. He could tell that it was something special by the way that Ron had hidden it, but he had no idea what it meant.

"It's the first step in a Courtship ritual. Ron's got a few years before anything will be finalized, but by the make of the necklace I'd say whoever it is will most likely be a pretty good formal choice," Draco murmured. He reached out, hesitantly, and asked Ron, "May I?"

Ron nodded, and Draco touched the necklace with gentle fingertips. He startled, then pulled his fingers away quickly. "And whoever it is thinks very highly of Ron, too. That's..." Draco shook his head. "That's a very good sign for one of your age and social standing."

"Ahh, but his social standing will increase as mine does, won't it?" Harry asked. "Somebody's just being clever and trying to get in before all the other girls realize just what a catch Ron potentially is."

"That was my thinking, too," Ron said in quiet agreement. "So can we stop talking about this for now? Because I thought you guys were planning a murder, so that's why I came in. That's much more entertaining than talking about my potential bride or groom-to-be."

"Right. Yes, absolutely. Let's plan ourselves a murder, then," Harry said in quick agreement. He was twelve. He didn't want to worry too much about marriage and the like, though he had no doubt that Tom would consider it to be a necessary conversation for the two of them to have at some point.

~Don't worry, Harry,~ Tom murmured, sounding a bit melancholy. ~I'm sure that I'll be long gone before it's time for you to worry about marriage.~

Harry frowned. ~If you were trying to put me in the right mind to plan a murder, well, that worked,~ he told the spirit.

Tom laughed, and Harry felt much better almost immediately.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the warm welcome back I received! You all made my awful week so much better with your kind words! Just to give you all an idea of where we are in the story, we are nearing the end of year two. I we have one and a half chapters left to go before year two formally ends. And then things will really pick up. I hope you're all ready for my personal favorite year in the first book!**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Two

Harry was trying his hardest not to be nervous. Draco had already gone into the room and left, Nott was in now, and Ron was sitting quietly beside him, a calm and soothing presence. Zabini was beside Ron, hands laced behind his head and his eyes closed lazily. He, too, was entirely unconcerned by what was happening in the other room. And why should he be? He certainly didn't have anything to fear.

~Just remember, you don't have anything to fear either, Harry,~ Tom said quietly, calmly in his head. ~Even if by some stroke of luck they've been given leave to use Legilimency, they won't be able to get past me.~

~And if they've been given leave to use Veritaserum?~ Harry asked, his nerves making even his mental voice tremble. He had to get himself under control, damn it. He couldn't be suspicious in that room. He had to make damned sure that he was anything but suspicious once he entered that room. If they had any inklings of suspicion, it could ruin just about everything.

~They haven't been given leave to use Veritaserum. There's no way that the Board of Governors would okay it or the Ministry would ask, considering that nobody's died yet.~

Harry didn't have time to respond to that statement. Nott left the room, his head down, his face twisted into an unhappy frown. That didn't help Harry's nerves at all. At least Draco had smiled when he'd come out of the room.

"Mr. Potter? We'll see you now," the junior Auror said quietly, calmly, a careful smile on her face. She had short, prim blonde hair and a pixie-like face. She wore the official black battle-robes of all Aurors, though they looked a bit out of place on such a tiny little thing. While that should have made Harry quite a bit nervous, there was something in her bright brown eyes that made Harry relax quite a lot, actually. She had the look of a fangirl on her face, her eyes lighting up at the very sight of Harry.

~Oh, we've so got this,~ Harry said cheerfully. He made sure to brush his hair casually out of his eyes and, entirely accidentally, away from his forehead, revealing the scar that he normally kept hidden at all costs. "Thank you so much for taking the time to try and catch this monster," he said softly, shyly, to the female Auror.

Tom was chortling in his head. ~Not so nervous anymore, are we?~ he asked, sounding entirely too amused. ~I told you, there was nothing to worry about. You've just got to remember to keep the charm turned up. After all, you're the Boy Who Lived. Why on earth would you be helping the Dark?~

Harry was very careful to keep his smile a smile and not a smirk as he settled across from the Auror interrogators. They were both very young, one being the female junior Auror that had escorted him into the room and the other a young male Auror, presumably not much more than a junior Auror himself. He had lovely, creamy dark skin and black hair braided close to his head. His eyes, too, lit up a bit when he saw who had just walked into his interrogation room. It wasn't all that surprising that they were being questioned by such young Aurors; after all, they were only children. What could they possibly be doing to stump the Headmaster of Hogwarts? The great Albus Dumbledore?

Professor Snape was also in the room, of course, considering that they were using his office. He looked entirely relaxed, as though Auror interrogations happened every year at Hogwarts. At least he would, hopefully, keep the Aurors from pressing Harry too hard. He supposed if things got too intense he could always break down into tears. That generally distracted adults fairly well. But, considering that both of these Aurors looked a little bit awed by his mere presence, well, he didn't think much in the way of theatrics would be necessary.

"It's our jobs," the man said, puffing up with self-importance. "And we know that you must be so frightened, you being who you are and all. Of course you could be one of the next targets!"

Harry's eyes widened in fear. "Oh, you don't think so, do you?" he asked, his voice trembling. "It's just that..." He stopped, was struck by a sudden flash of inspiration that had Tom howling in laughter, gulped a bit, and said quietly, "After the events of last year, well, I'd so hoped things would be quiet."

The female Auror looked concerned. "What happened last year? We don't have any record of anything untoward happening at Hogwarts," she said, sounding a bit confused.

Harry glanced down at his hands, fiddled with the sleeves of his robes and said hesitantly, "Well, it's just that..." He stopped, glanced about a bit nervously, then said, "If the Headmaster didn't say then I'm not entirely sure that it's my place to say anything either, Auror-" he stopped, then, trailing off awkwardly as though he'd just realized that he didn't know either of the two Auror's names.

"I'm Auror Evans," the girl said quickly, "And this is Auror Wallace. And trust me, Harry, may I call you Harry?" she asked, and waited for Harry to nod, "Trust me, Harry, if something happened last year that you think the Aurors need to know about, well, you should absolutely tell us." She reached out, then, and placed a reassuring hand on top of Harry's own.

"Auror Evans?" Harry asked, and raised watery eyes to meet the girl's own. He offered her his shyest smile and ducked his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes once more. "That was my Mum's maiden name," he confided in a whisper.

"Really?" Auror Evans squeaked, then she cleared her throat. "Well, you should know that you can absolutely trust us Aurors with anything," she said in a less girlish tone, as though tone of voice alone was enough to make her comparable to the magnificently deceased Lily Potter nee Evans.

Harry still hesitated. "I wouldn't want to get the Headmaster in trouble," he said finally, and ducked his head even further. He couldn't laugh. He had very much to not laugh, and seriously, ~Tom, I will duck inside my head the first chance I get and stab you if you don't stop howling in there,~ because his laughing was incredibly distracting.

"If the Headmaster has been hiding things from the Aurors, Harry, well, we need to know. Please, we promise we won't reveal our source," Auror Wallace said, now taking on the same gentle tone that Auror Evans had been using the entire time.

"It's just that... did you know that the Headmaster was keeping the Mirror of Erised here at Hogwarts last year?" Harry asked, then winced. "I mean, I shouldn't have said that."

~Harry, what exactly do you think you're doing?~ Tom asked, all laughter gone from his voice.

~Giving them something else to focus on, of course!~ Harry sang back, glad that Tom was no longer cackling and distracting him from distracting the Aurors.

~I hope you know what you're doing,~ Tom said warily. ~Because if you reveal something before the Dark Lord is ready for you to, I hope you know that I don't know that I'll be able to protect you.~

~Oh, I'm not going to talk about that!~ Harry said cheerfully, ~Just the other time that I was exposed to the Mirror, that's all.~

Snape, too, had set down his quill and was giving Harry his full attention. His expression very clearly stated that he hoped Harry knew what he was doing, because he wasn't entirely sure that the boy did. Harry didn't dare offer him the saucy wink that he felt like giving him, or even smiling really. That would come later, if he ever had a moment that the Aurors weren't entirely focused on him.

"The Mirror of Erised!" Auror Evans exclaimed, sharing a startled glance with her partner. "What... why would the Headmaster be keeping something like that in a school full of children?" she asked.

Harry offered a shrug. "I don't... I don't know. But I... I found it last year. It was in a room off the library, anybody could have stumbled onto it! And I didn't know what it was, honest, I was just..." He stopped, then, and blushed.

"You were just?" Auror Wallace prompted, still as gently as his partner had been the entire time. "We promise you, Harry, you won't be in trouble for whatever it was."

Harry glanced shyly at his head of House and confessed, "It was over the Christmas holidays, but I was out after hours and I almost got caught so I ducked into the first open room that I found." He ducked his head as though ashamed to admit that he'd broken the rules. Never mind that he'd done it dozens of times since that very incident and Snape knew it, too.

Professor Snape, bless him, played his role to perfection. "Out after hours, Mr. Potter? Tsk. But you weren't caught, and I suppose that, wherever you're going with this sordid tale, it was punishment enough. Not to mention, of course, this happened last year. I see no reason to punish you a year after the infraction took place."

Harry smiled a bit, but it was a sad thing that didn't show much in the way of pleasure, then bowed his head as though too overwhelmed to continue. "I'm sorry, this is just really hard to talk about," he said, voice choked. It was choked with laughter, of course, but thank Merlin that laughter sounded a lot like tears when one was holding it in.

"Were you ensnared by the mirror, Harry?" Auror Evans asked, her voice fairly throbbing with compassion.

Harry began to twist his hands together. "Like I said, I hadn't even meant to look. But I saw a flash of something out of the corner of my eye and I turned to look and... and there they were," he whispered, and sniffled a bit pathetically. "My parents, and more family than I'd ever know what to do with, all there, all so happy to see me. How could I turn away? It was... it was all I'd ever wanted in my life, to have my family back." Harry stopped speaking then, and bit his lip and kept his head and eyes down. Appearance was crucial at this moment in time. He absolutely had to be believed.

"Oh, you poor thing. How did you break the mirror's hold?" Auror Wallace asked, clearly buying Harry's tale hook, line, and sinker. Merlin were these idiots gullible.

Harry shook his head. "I don't... I don't really remember. I think maybe I caught sight of the writing on the sides of the mirror, you know, that warns you? But I'm not sure. And then once I'd seen the writing on the side of the mirror, well, then I just had to leave and not come back. It was awful to know that what I'd seen wasn't really possible, that it was just an illusion conjured by some stupid mirror." Harry huffed and allowed a bit of anger to creep into his voice. And why shouldn't he be angry, having allegedly had his heart laid bare by a piece of enchanted glass?

"We'll make sure that we bring this up to the Minister, Harry," Auror Evans said, and gently patted Harry's hands. "Something that dangerous should never have been in a castle full of children. Just think, anybody could have stumbled onto it! No, that simply isn't acceptable," she murmured.

"We'll see that something's done about it," Auror Wallace agreed. "But I think that's enough trauma for you for the day. It's ludicrous to think that you might have anything to do with these attacks, you being such a good kid and all. Why don't you go on out with your friends, now, and we'll finish up the questioning."

Harry nodded shakily and stood slowly, as though uncertain. At the door he paused, turned, and asked hesitantly, "Are you sure that the Headmaster won't get in too much trouble? And that he won't know that I'm the one that told?" he asked, voice trembling. "It's just that I know Headmaster Dumbledore is a great man and he did the best he could, and I wouldn't want him to look down on me," he said, his eyes wide and watery and hopeful.

"He shouldn't get in too much trouble, Harry, but this does has to be addressed. And don't worry, we'll be sure to keep your name out of it. I'm sure Professor Snape will hold your confidence as well," Auror Evans said with a wink.

The Professor sighed. "I heard nothing," he finally drawled. "And I agree. An artifact of the Mirror's nature has no place among students. You did well to report it, Harry."

Harry nodded once, offered both the Aurors and the Professor another shy smile, then darted from the room as though he was overwhelmed and didn't want to break down in front of them. It wasn't until he was nearly at the common room that he allowed himself to slow down and smile a true smirk. He was damned good.

~Damned good? Harry, you little con artist,~ Tom said admiringly. ~That was my mother's maiden name? Really? That was...~ Tom sighed in admiration. ~That was worthy of myself in my prime,~ he said proudly.

Harry chuckled. ~I learned from the best,~ he said, and paused to duck into a bathroom and readjust his hair so that his scar was most definitely not showing. ~Say, shouldn't I start growing my hair out soon? I am the Lord of an Ancient Noble House.~

Harry could feel Tom mentally rolling his eyes. ~You should soon enough, I suppose. Vain little peacock,~ he said, fondly. ~But no, you're right, appearances are everything and I think that you should probably stop getting your hair cut very shortly. If nothing else, it will show the Purebloods that you're serious about maintaining your status, and it might keep Dumbledore guessing. After all, if you truly stood with the Dark you wouldn't make such an obvious change to yourself.~

Harry sighed. ~That's going to be a pain come next year's Quidditch season,~ he said with a small sigh. ~Pity.~

Harry relaxed entirely to the sound of Tom's chuckles and finished making his way to the common room, where Draco was waiting anxiously. "Did everything go okay?" Draco asked once Harry had seated himself next to him, his voice just under a whisper and his lips barely moving. If Harry hadn't settled directly next to him on the couch, Harry never would have heard him.

"Not only that, but I've landed somebody else in the hot seat for something entirely unrelated," Harry murmured back. He knew that Draco would know enough not to actually ask further questions within the common room, and so he cracked open his Transfigurations text. He lost himself in studying, Draco by his side. Classes were easy enough, but that didn't mean he should slack off. Tom would mentally flay him alive if he wasn't still on the top of his class at the end of this year.

ooOOooOOoo

The interrogations were long since over and the Aurors had found nothing that Albus himself hadn't managed to uncover, though they'd only just now finished going over the scenes of the crimes. The entire thing had been a waste of Albus' time and Ministry resources, and for what? For nothing. Albus was more than a little bit irritated and it showed in the somewhat sternly worded letter he was composing to the Board of Governors, complaining about their lack of faith in him as a Headmaster.

A softly cleared throat caught his attention and Albus frowned and looked up. The Aurors should have been leaving, so then what was one doing standing in his office, patiently waiting for his attention? For that matter, what was Amelia Bones doing on Hogwarts grounds? She hadn't been there the entire time, had she? No, he would have recognized the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement. For that matter, she would have no doubt taken the time to greet him before now if she'd been there the entire time.

"What can I do for you, Amelia?" Albus asked, working very hard not to grit his teeth. If the Aurors had found something where he'd failed... well, he wouldn't be very happy with that.

"There's been some disturbing talk from the students, Albus," she said, and settled herself across from him without invitation. "The Minister has sent me to see if you had a good reason for the things that we've heard from a few of them."

"Disturbing talk from the students that concerns the Minister himself? That's... that's very concerning, Amelia. Please. Tell me what's on the Ministry's mind," Albus invited, twinkling at her disarmingly. "And can I offer you tea? Or some lemon drops?" he added, as charmingly as he ever had in his life. What could have possibly gotten the Ministry's back up?

Amelia scowled at him. "Neither, thank you," she said stiffly. "And as for what we've heard, Albus, you could be in a lot of trouble. Is it true that you were keeping the Mirror of Erised here last year?" she asked, as blunt and flat as ever.

Albus had always liked that about her. Not now, of course, because he had no time to prepare for the question, but generally speaking, her bluntness was particularly refreshing. "I... that is to say, where exactly did you hear that?" he asked, curious. Which of his students had stumbled upon it before he'd moved the damned ineffective thing into the maze, anyway? If only he'd monitored it more closely...

Amelia looked surprised. "You mean to say that you did have the Mirror here? Albus, really?" she asked, her eyes going dark with a little bit of horror. "You know how dangerous that artifact is! You could have driven one of the students mad!"

"I never said that I had the Mirror here," Albus said peevishly. "And I'd like to know which of my students reported that it was here."

She scowled at him. "I am not at liberty to divulge our source at this time. But suffice to say that our source is one that we trust implicitly and has no reason to lie to us about this. So tell me now, once and for all, before I'm forced to use Veritaserum on you, did you have the Mirror at Hogwarts where students could accidentally stumble upon it?"

Albus' breath left him in a hiss of air. There wasn't really all that much wiggle room here. If he said no she'd probably use the Veritaserum anyway, and he really didn't feel like being dosed today. As much as he hated to do it, as much as the fine that was going to come would doubtlessly hurt his pockets and the scathing article Skeeter would likely write would ding his reputation a bit, he managed to say with some amount of shame, "Yes, Amelia, I had the Mirror hidden in an unused classroom by the library. I was running some experiments with it. I'd thought that I'd locked the door every time that I left it, but I must have left it open one night. It was negligent of me, and for that I apologize."

Amelia sighed. "You know that you're going to have to issue a formal, public apology?" She stood, then, and glowered down at him. "And there will have to be some sort of consequence for this as well. The Ministry can't be seen as letting you off easily when somebody could have easily been hurt by your negligence."

"No, I understand," Albus said with a nod. "I'll have the apology drafted by tomorrow morning and I'm prepared to pay whatever fine the Ministry deems appropriate." He offered her an embarrassed smile and said, "I'm just sorry that I allowed my fervor for experimentation to potentially damage one of my students. They deserve better than that from me."

Thankfully Amelia seemed to buy his contrition and left the office with a swirl of her robes. Albus settled back down at his desk after showing the witch out and glared moodily at the letter he'd just been writing. Which of his students had stumbled upon the Mirror, and which of them would dare confess it to the Aurors? And why would they do so?

He had a feeling that whichever of the precocious little snots had confessed to finding the Mirror in the first place was the one setting the basilisk on his students. Why, if Harry weren't so young he might almost begin to suspect the boy! Clearly this was all starting to get to him. Of course Harry Potter wasn't so far gone as to be attacking his fellow students. Those were clearly the acts of a much older psychopath. And Harry was many things, but he wasn't a psychopath.

At least, Albus hoped he wasn't.

ooOOooOOoo

After the Aurors had finished their interrogations and found nothing, much to everyone's fear, time seemed to speed up quite rapidly. Quidditch was cancelled because of the attacks and the entire school was on a very strict curfew and buddy system, but nobody was upset because all of the students were frightened by the strange attacks. And the measures appeared to be working, because there were no victims after Longbottom had been taken.

And before anyone seemed to realize it, the school year was almost over. Finals were started, and Harry couldn't help the strange sense of anticipation that made his toes curl and his hands tremble ever so finely as he settled into the last final of the year: his Potions exam. Tom was silent within him, but Harry could feel his anticipation as well. This was it. After this exam, after the rest of the exams for the day were finished, he could take Lockhart.

~Try to focus on your exam,~ Tom said dryly. ~We've still got a few more hours yet until you and Ron and Draco can enact your plans.~

Harry grinned as he focussed on adding his ingredients to the cauldron in the proper order at the proper times in the right amounts. ~But it's such a good plan. Even you like this plan,~ he sent to Tom cheerfully. Goyle, who was stationed next to him now that Neville was out, was busy mangling his potion entirely and Harry was vindictive enough not to help the slob who was clearly accomplice to whatever upper year was torturing Draco.

~I do like this plan. But please focus on your potion,~ Tom implored as Harry added his next ingredient just a fraction of a second before it would have been too late.

~Spoilsport,~ Harry sent with a pout.

~Yes, well, one of us has to be responsible, and at this particular point in time? That one of us is not you.~ Tom then chose to, rather childishly in Harry's opinion, fall silent. So Harry did the same, because why not? He was twelve. He was absolutely allowed to be childish.

And besides, he didn't actually want his potion to explode because he absolutely did care about his grades. They would make all the difference when he was trying to decide what career he wanted later in life. Just in case being the heir to the Dark Lord didn't pan out as a viable life option, that was to say.

Tom snorted softly in his head and Harry continued with his work, pleased at the almost-laugh he'd managed to wrangle. It was enough, considering the mood Tom had been in all day.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and chanced a glance at Draco out of the corner of his eye. He was pretty sure that he should be more nervous than he actually was, considering what they were about to do. After all, it wasn't every day that one became an accomplice to murder. If not an actual murderer himself. He wasn't entirely sure of the laws regarding what they were about to do. But it didn't matter, because it wasn't like they were going to get caught.

"Are you ready?" he asked Draco hesitantly as the two of them stood just outside of the entrance to their common room. Harry had been gone for most of the day after their exam, because Harry had to be missing, and of course he also had to get things set up so that it would be easy enough to pull this off.

"Absolutely," Draco confirmed with one regal nod of his pale blond head. "Don't worry, Ron, we'll do just fine with this. Just follow my lead."

"Right," Ron agreed, shakily, and resolved to do just that even as Draco quite suddenly took off running, the note that was so crucial to their mission's success clenched tightly in his hand. He just hoped that they could pull this off and not disappoint Harry. He'd only just fully gained the other's trust, after all.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco was quite determined that they would manage this without arousing any suspicion. "Professor Lockhart!" he called, banging on the Professor's, and he did use that term loosely, door. This really was going to be such a pleasure. Idiots like Lockhart weren't worth the air that they breathed.

"Boys, boys, whatever is the matter?" Lockhart asked as he opened the door to them, surprise coloring his always perfect face. "Where's the fire?" he joked, even as he ushered them into his office.

"It's Harry, sir," Ron said, doing an admirable job of sounding upset. "We hadn't seen him since after the Potions test, sir, when he'd said he was going up into the dorm for a quick nap. We didn't think anything of it because, well, it was a really hard test, and then..." Ron trailed off with a gulp and stared down at the note in his hands.

"And then we went to wake Harry up because he missed dinner and we were worried because he never misses meals and we found the note!" Draco said, and allowed himself to sound panicked. Please. As if he would ever sound panicked in front of a peasant like Lockhart.

"The note? What note?" Lockhart asked, looking terribly concerned.

"Somebody took Harry, sir, and they said that they're going to feed him to the basilisk! We knew that you could help, sir, because you've defeated all of those awful monsters in the past!" Ron said, and thrust the note in Lockhart's face.

Draco fought down a smirk at how very green around the gills Lockhart got at that. Of course he'd never in his life fought a monster, but they weren't to have caught on to that. After all, they were just children. How were they supposed to have put together the timelines in his books and realized that nothing really added up properly?

"Now boys, let's not be rash. I'm sure your friend is just playing an awful prank on you!" Lockhart said, and forced a hollow sounding laugh. He didn't look even remotely pleased with the direction that the conversation appeared to be headed in.

"But sir, we know where the Chamber is, and Harry... what if somebody thinks that Harry knows too much?" Draco asked earnestly. "We found the Chamber the other day and we were going to tell a Professor but the attacks had stopped and..." He stopped, then, and trailed off, looking contrite. "We should have told sooner," he whispered mournfully. "Now," he said, as sad as he could manage while still being believable, "Harry might die. And it'll be all our fault!"

Ron burst into sobs, and Lockhart very clearly had no idea what to do so he patted them both awkwardly on the head. "Well then, let's go and rescue your friend!" he said, and Draco smirked as Ron led him out of the office, still sobbing madly. He took the time to very carefully levitate the other note onto Lockhart's desk, making sure not to contact the note in any way. It would make things absolutely clear when anybody next came looking for the idiot.

Really, they were just lucky that the idiot spent so much time in his office answering fan mail and that the castle was practically deserted due to the curfew in effect. Otherwise, things might have been infinitely more difficult and somebody might have spotted them travelling either to or from Lockhart's office.

Then he was off, following Ron and Lockhart, being as believably sad as he could. A Weasley could get away with crying for a best friend, a Malfoy could not. It was that simple. And it was the little things like that that made this plan simple and believable enough to actually work.

ooOOooOOoo

Watching Saliss crunch Lockhart into oblivion the night before had been oddly anticlimactic. Their plan had been full proof, and had gone off entirely without a hitch, and now the three of them were at the breakfast table, waiting for the metaphorical shit to hit the metaphorical fan. Lockhart hadn't been at dinner the night before, of course, because he'd been busy being digested by Saliss, so there was little doubt in Harry's mind that the note from the night before had to have been discovered. Now it was just a matter of waiting and seeing.

There were Aurors present once more, which boded well for their little note having been discovered, and the remaining Professors at the table were silent and grim-faced as the students ate. The somber mood at the Head Table was trickling down to the students, though, and it wasn't long until the entire Hall fell into an uneasy silence as they waited for what would doubtlessly be a sad announcement.

Finally, once Harry was fairly certain he would faint from the anticipation, the Headmaster stood slowly, laboriously. He cleared his throat and didn't even have to amplify his voice magically, so silent and attentive was the hall. "Students, this year has been a year rife with tragedy," he began solemnly, "and I am sorry to say that it will end in tragedy as well."

There was a faint mumbling at that that cut off fairly quickly as the Headmaster paused to allow it to continue until it died down. "It grieves me greatly to tell you that last night our own Professor Lockhart made an attempt at subduing the basilisk which has preyed upon our students all year and, unfortunately, did not survive the experience."

Well, that wasn't quite what happened, but it was close enough. The other students were talking loudly once more, and Harry could see some of the younger students starting to cry. He almost felt guilty. Well, no, not really. That was a lie. Lockhart had gotten pretty much exactly what he deserved.

The Headmaster cleared his throat once more, and the hall fell silent in anticipation. It wasn't every year that a Professor died at Hogwarts, after all. "I regret to inform you that we have no choice but to close our doors early this year. We shall spend the slightly extended summer attempting to ferret out the location of the basilisk's lair and, failing that, making the school safe for you all once more."

Harry tuned the Headmaster out at that point. It was painfully obvious that he wasn't going to actually reveal the note and the contents thereof, but that was okay. The note had been for the Headmaster's benefit, anyway. It had been simple, and brilliant if Harry said so himself. Harry had written in the same handwriting he'd used to write the messages on the walls, in what he was privately calling his menacing heir's handwriting, and it had simply read,

_We've taken the fool to the Chamber where his body will lie forever. At least, until it is digested by our basilisk. If you're going to shovel drivel into the mouths of our children, at least make it believable. Next time, Albus, get a better Defense teacher. This one was atrocious. Not even the basilisk liked crunching him in two._

He'd done what he'd set out to do at the start of the year. The Dark Lord would hopefully be pleased. Dumbledore, and the Ministry, had been very distracted for the majority of the year, and Hogwarts was being forced to close two weeks ahead of schedule.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews, from both new fans and old! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!**


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Three

Of course, with the way that Harry's luck had been running, it was more than time for it to run out just a little bit. While he was disappointed, he wasn't really all that surprised to be called to the Headmaster's office just after breakfast the day after the announcement had been made that the train would be arriving to take the students away early. The train would be there after lunch, so this was doubtlessly the Headmaster's last chance to talk to Harry before he was whisked away for another summer with the Malfoys.

He settled himself into the chair across from the Headmaster and offered the man an uncertain smile. "Am I in trouble?" he asked hesitantly, after refusing the tea that the Headmaster offered him. He wouldn't put it past the man to try to dose him with something, after all, and better safe than sorry. He had too many secrets to guard to take that chance.

"Should you be?" the Headmaster asked curiously. "No, my dear boy, it has nothing to do with any sort of trouble. I simply wanted to check in on you. I know that you had a difficult first year, especially after the terrible start to it all, and I wanted to make sure that everything was going well for you."

Harry offered the Headmaster a shy, trembling smile. "It's really great here, except for, well, you know," he said, trailing off awkwardly. "Draco and Ron and I are really good friends. I'm so grateful to have met them both on the train ride here my first year." He perked up a bit as he spoke of them, as though he couldn't help but be cheerful when talking about his two very bestest friends. Really, if the Headmaster fell for this he would deserve all the shit that Harry was certain was coming his way. The man had, after all, dealt with Harry before Harry had mastered his innocent mask.

"I'm so glad to hear that you've made such very good friends," the Headmaster said cheerfully. "Could I offer you a lemon drop, Harry?" he asked in a seeming non-sequitur.

~Don't think for a moment that those are any safer than tea, Harry,~ Tom cautioned. ~I'm pretty sure he doses both.~ Tom paused, then added, ~If you feel as though you have to take one, go for the lemon drop. From what I recall, they're dosed with something a little less intense.~

~Thanks for the heads up. I'm pretty sure I knew that, though,~ Harry said snarkily. And then, apologetically, ~Not about the different doses, though. Thanks.~ He shook his head once more. "Thank you, sir, but I'd rather not spoil my lunch. Too many sweets aren't so good for me. I get an upset stomach," he babbled. "I'm sorry I'm not being a very good guest."

"Oh, no, my dear child, you're just fine," the Headmaster said soothingly. "I certainly understand not wanting to spoil your lunch. You're very sensible, Harry, and I like that very much." The Headmaster paused, then, and Harry dared to look up at the man. He was stroking his beard, considering, and finally he said, "And how are you and your Aunt getting along after the incident before your first year started?"

Harry fought down a snort. As though the old man didn't know that he hadn't been to see Petunia since he'd finally come to Hogwarts for the first time. But no, it wouldn't do to bring that up when he was busy pretending to be a sweet and innocent twelve year old. Instead, he hunched his shoulders in and let out a tiny, unhappy noise. "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered, as though he'd failed the man entirely.

"My dear child, whatever are you sorry for?" Albus asked. "I'm certain if things are going poorly between your Aunt and you I can intercede on your behalf. She must understand that whatever happened in the past was not your fault, but merely a result of the poor shape her husband was in, and possibly your own fear!"

"I wouldn't..." Harry paused and let out a convincing little sniffle. "I wouldn't know what she thinks, sir, as I haven't seen her since the start of my first school year." His shoulders shook and he leaned forward to bury his face in his arms atop the Headmaster's desk. Really, he deserved an award for all the acting he'd been doing lately. These were performances worthy of... of something awesome. He hoped that Voldemort appreciated this.

~I'll nominate you for an award myself,~ Tom said dryly, ~Now if you would just pay attention?~

"You haven't? Oh, my dear child, I'm so sorry to hear that!" the Headmaster exclaimed. "But where did you stay over the summer? Tell me that you didn't stay by yourself!"

"I... well, after I went home to Privet Drive and found strangers there, I didn't know what to do," Harry sniffled. He sat up, then, and wiped at his running eyes with his sleeve. He took the handkerchief that the Headmaster offered him and blew into it before twisting it into knots with nervous fingers. "So I went back to Diagon Alley and got a room at the Leaky Cauldron, you know, the inn just outside of the Alley?"

"I've been to the place several times myself. Tom is a wonderful man, and I'm certain he looked after you, but Harry, my dear child, staying at an inn all summer simply won't do! The world can be a dangerous place and you're far too young to be out on your own in it!" the Headmaster exclaimed, and Harry could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

He hurried to say, "Oh, but I didn't stay there for long! You see, I wrote to Draco, and he and his family were so very kind as to let me stay with them over the summer, and over Christmas Holidays this year! It was so wonderful!" Harry let himself sound a little bit wistful as he said, "I got to play with somebody my own age for the first time over a summer break, and I didn't feel like a freakish burden. It was the best summer I've ever had, sir, and I'm so pleased to be able to go back again this year," he said earnestly.

The Headmaster frowned severely. "While I'm certainly pleased to hear that you did not spend your summer alone in Diagon Alley, I think that perhaps the Malfoys aren't the best choice for you to spend your summer with, Harry," he said firmly. "No, I think maybe the Weasleys might be a better option for you this year. They'll be happy to have you for the summer, that is, assuming that I can't track down your aunt."

Oh, hell no. That wasn't happening. He couldn't imagine the burden that would put on Ron's already strained relationship with his parents. Harry thought quickly and finally came up with a small and hesitant, "Sir?" in his meekest tone.

"What is it, dear boy?" the Headmaster asked, offering Harry a grandfatherly smile even as he began to scrawl a letter out on parchment.

"Well, it's just that... you know that Ron's one of my absolute best friends, and you know that I love him just like a brother, right sir?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"I'm very glad to hear that, Harry. You could do much worse than to forge such a close bond with one of the Weasley family," the Headmaster said, beaming. "They're good, loyal people, the Weasleys are."

"Yes sir," Harry said with a nod of agreement. "And I'm sure you can understand, sir, that I wouldn't want to put anybody out, right?" he asked, shy and hesitant as though he couldn't believe that he had the temerity to so much as question the Headmaster, much less argue with him.

"That's certainly very admirable of you, Harry, but you are just a child. It's the job of the adults who surround you to help you no matter what the cost is," the Headmaster said with a gentle, grandfatherly smile for the sweet boy who seemed so unassuming before him.

"Well, yes, sir, but you see, I wouldn't want to make the Weasleys, and especially Ron, uncomfortable. I know how little they have, sir, and I know that they're such good people that they wouldn't be willing to take money from me, so I'd be taking what little they have and..." Harry dropped his head and shook it wildly as he confessed in his softest voice yet, "And I don't want to be the burden that my Aunt and Uncle always said that I was." He closed his eyes, then, and bowed his head, and hunched ever further in on himself, as though ashamed of what he'd just admitted to the Headmaster.

The Headmaster let out a small, unhappy noise at that. "Oh, my dear child, I never knew that..." The Headmaster fell silent, then, and Harry heard him set down the quill. It was some moments before the Headmaster said quietly, "Well, then, if that's the way you feel about it, I certainly can't fault you for choosing to stay with the Malfoys. But only for the first few weeks of summer, Harry," the Headmaster cautioned. "I think that you would do well with another family, it's just a matter of figuring out where to place you for the remainder of the summer."

Harry let his face light up and he offered the Headmaster his most blinding smile to date. "Thank you so much, sir!" he said, and hopped up out of his chair. As much as it killed him, he darted around the Headmaster's desk and flung his arms around the fragile old man in a swift, enthusiastic hug and tried not to think of how easy it would be to stab the man to death with a quill. Or even just to snap his neck. The old man was awfully fragile, after all. Harry was pretty sure that last bit was Tom's influence.

"Oh, yes, well, very good, child," the Headmaster said, and patted him a few time on the back. "Why don't you head off to the dorms and finish getting ready before the train can arrive? We wouldn't want you to be late, would we?"

"Yes, sir!" Harry chirped, and practically skipped from the room the picture of childhood innocence. Really, this whole manipulation thing? Disgustingly easy. He supposed it would get harder when he could no longer rely on childish behavior, and a part of him was actually looking forward to that. After all, right now it was kind of boring.

~You won't be thinking that when the stakes get much higher,~ Tom cautioned, and Harry sobered a bit. Tom was right, of course. Once the stakes were higher than whether he would get to stay at Draco's house or not, once the stakes were life and death and he was actually under suspicion rather than just being questioned because the entire student body was being questioned, he probably wouldn't find these games so funny.

But until then, well, there was no harm in having a bit of fun, was there?

~No, Harry, I suppose not.~

ooOOooOOoo

The boy was utterly, disgustingly, infuriatingly brilliant.

Albus stared after him with gritted teeth, his fingers clenching slowly on the quill in his hands until he heard it snap. He wasn't anywhere near as stupid as the boy doubtlessly believed him to be. He knew very well that he'd just been manipulated into letting the boy stay with the Malfoys, but the argument that he'd given had been absolutely perfect. There was no way that he could have made the boy stay with the Weasleys after the show of concern he'd given.

Now he had to think of another family that could hope to match the Malfoys in political power that would be willing to take on the Boy Who Lived for a few summers until he graduated from Hogwarts. The list was perilously short, and, in fact, sat quite neatly at empty. There were only a few families out there that matched the Malfoys politically speaking, and only one of those was one that the Headmaster would feel even remotely comfortable transferring Harry's care to. And even then, he wasn't even close to certain that the Diggory family would be able to beat the Malfoys if it were to come to an all out custody battle. After all, Narcissa could claim a blood relation to the boy's... oh.

Oh, now wasn't that a good little thought. He hadn't really wanted to bring this mess up, because he certainly wouldn't come out smelling like roses from this fiasco either, and neither would anybody in the Ministry. Bringing this mess up would make fools out of a lot of people, which was the entire reason that Albus had let things slide for so long. Well, that and that he'd truly needed Harry to grow up humble with his Aunt and Uncle rather than rambunctious with his Godfather.

But.

But he didn't have much of a choice now, did he? Harry was being exposed to who knew what sorts of things every day that he spent among the Malfoys. And the boy was already so very dangerous, especially since Albus still wasn't entirely convinced that the child hadn't had a hand in the incidents with the basilisk and the loss of the Sorcerer's Stone. And then, of course, there was the 'accidental' wandless Killing Curse. No, Harry was far too grey already to be allowed to stay with the Malfoys for any length of time.

So no matter how little he wanted to do this, no matter how hard a sell it was going to be to the Ministry and to everybody else, Albus knew this was truly the only option open to him. After all, had Harry not implied that all he wanted was a family who loved and accepted him? And this person was certainly as anti-Slytherin and anti-Malfoy as they came. If anybody could bring the Boy Who Lived more firmly to the light, it was this man.

Dumbledore stood, then, and braced himself for what had to happen next. It wasn't going to be pretty or easy, and he'd been hoping to never have to deal with this little mess, but, well, needs must and all that.

He had to see a man about a dog.

ooOOooOOoo

The ride back to Platform Nine and Three Quarters was oddly calm for once. At least, for the first half of it. Harry knew that he'd thought too soon when the door to their car opened, interrupting Draco and Ron's rather spirited but friendly game of chess. Harry had been helping both of them by turns, if by helping he meant sabotaging both sides pretty much at will. Draco and Ron were either incredibly amused by his 'help' or just not daring to say anything considering that they both now knew what lay inside of him.

Harry certainly wasn't above taking advantage of that fear to have a little bit of fun.

~You're awful,~ Tom accused fondly. Harry could feel his gentle amusement and it made him fight to not panic. He didn't want to be feeling Tom's emotions. Every now and again, when he felt them when he wasn't expecting them, it reminded Harry that every time he felt Tom's emotions that meant that Tom was just a little bit closer to merging with him.

"Ginny, what?" Ron asked, sounding incredibly weary. "And mate in three, by the way."

Harry snapped back to the present and frowned at the little Weasley girl. Had he not made his opinion of her absolutely clear? Well, maybe she was actually here to see Ron. He supposed anything was possible. But still... he had some suspicions.

"I see that you still aren't following the rules that Mum and Dad laid out for you," she said with a haughty toss of her hair. "What do you expect to do over the summer without some kind of allowance, anyway? You won't be able to get that broom you were thinking of."

Ron flushed darkly. "Ginny, that's a private matter," he said quietly. "Did you have something else you wanted, or were you just here to embarrass me in front of my friends?"

"I wanted to apologize to you about ratting you out to Mum and Dad. But... you don't seem to care all that much about what Mum and Dad think, so maybe I shouldn't," she sneered, still in that same haughty tone.

Draco let out a small sigh. "Have you no knowledge of propriety, little girl?" he asked, one elegant eyebrow raising.

Harry valiantly turned his snicker into a cough and ducked his head when the girl turned to stare at him.

"Was I talking to you, Malfoy?" she asked coldly, turning her attention back to Draco.

Draco calmly made his next move and told Ron, "You're in check, Ron," before turning his attention to the girl once more. "As for whether or not you were talking to me, well, I assumed that since you entered our car and gave your rather personal statement to all three of us that you were, in fact, intending on addressing both Harry and I as well as your brother. If that was not the case, and I strongly suspect that it was not, perhaps you should consider just who is present before opening your mouth to speak."

Ginny stared at Draco for several moments in shocked silence. Then, with all of the dignity of an offended cat, turned and stalked from the car with not another word.

"Thanks," Ron said quietly, awkwardly. He offered a small smile to Draco as he made his next move. "I wasn't quite sure what to say to her."

"Think nothing of it, and you'll still have more thoughts in your head than her," Draco said quietly, calmly.

"May I just say how very glad I am that I didn't actually have to say anything there?" Harry asked. "I hate getting involved in squabbles between families." He paused, considered, and then said, "Or rather, I hate getting involved in squabbles within families. Between families I seem to be rather good at. You know, judging by the chess game the two of you are playing."

Ron rolled his eyes, made his next move and said rather smugly. "Okay, I lied. Mate, Draco." He smirked down at the board, then at Draco.

"Huh," Draco muttered and studied the board for a moment before offering a small, icy little smile. "Good game," he said softly. And then he cast a quiet, calm, "_Tempus_," and frowned. "The train should be pulling into the station at any minute. We should pack up your set," he said. "And if you're going to, you probably want to change."

Ron hesitated, then shook his head. "No, you know what? I don't think that I do want to change, thanks. My parents are just going to have to get used to seeing me in better clothes. I won't..." He stopped, considered what he was saying, and then said quietly, definitively, "I'm tired of compromising with them when they aren't willing to even consider my side of the story."

Harry frowned at his friend. "That could get you in trouble," he said hesitantly. "Ron, I think I can speak for both Draco and I when I say that we don't want to cause unnecessary friction among your family."

Ron shook his head. "You're not the causes of it," he said, as the train pulled into the station. "I just think that I'm not really much like the rest of my family at all, and that your friendship is bringing that home." He offered them both a weak, shaky smile, and gathered his bags together. "Have a great summer, guys."

"We'll write!" Harry called. "Maybe we can meet up at Diagon Alley at some point! After all, I still owe you the other half of your Christmas present."

Ron turned and grinned at them. "Just write me to let me know when and where. I'll try to be there."

Once he was gone Draco said, very quietly, "I'm worried about him," sounding startled that he was even thinking it.

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment before saying, irritably, "I'm worried about both of you. But neither one of you seem to be willing to admit that I have anything to worry about, so let me just say that I don't want to hear anything from you." He stalked out of the car, his bags floating behind him with a wandless, wordless command. He was too irritated to think right then, and he blamed that entirely on Tom. It was nice to have somebody to blame his irrational irritation on.

It wasn't until he was all the way out into the station proper that he heard Draco say softly, hesitantly, "There's a chance that you might have a very good cause to be concerned about me."

When Harry turned to stare at him, his face was entirely blank as though he'd said nothing at all. Harry offered him a small, affectionate smile and took hold of his bags. It wouldn't do to be scolded for practicing magic outside of Hogwarts, after all.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron said nothing to his parents in the short ride on the Knight Bus back to their house. He said nothing at all to his parents once they'd entered the house, and said nothing still as he went up to his room. He settled onto his bed and cracked open his Potions text and when there was a hesitant knock on the door, he toyed with not responding. Then, flatly, he finally called out, "Enter!"

His father came into the room and settled on the bed next to him. "Can I talk to you?" he asked.

Ron closed both his eyes and the book. "If it's about Harry or Draco, then no. You can't." He opened his eyes and watched as his father's face fell. "I'm thirteen now, Dad. I can make my own friends. I always could. You were the ones who taught me that names and appearances and social status didn't matter. Don't ask me to take them into account now."

"He isn't... they're a bad influence on you, Ron," his father began. He sounded as though he had a speech ready, but Ron didn't actually want to hear it.

He bowed his head and opened his Potions book once more. He still had a lot of studying to do if he had a hope in hell of keeping up with the class. It was far from his best subject, but he was determined to hold his own. He had to keep up with Harry and Draco, after all.

Eventually, his father sighed, stood, and left the room. Ron fought down childish tears at the unfairness of it all and, when he couldn't quite manage to fight them off, he reached up and touched the locket around his neck that he kept hidden from his parents. Warmth flooded him almost immediately and Ron relaxed.

At least somebody out there, other than Draco and Harry of course, still wanted him.

ooOOooOOoo

"What rules have you broken in the time since I've last seen you?" his father asked as he circled Draco's still, calm form much like a cat circled it's prey.

"I haven't broken any rules. In fact, one might argue that I've done more to further the Malfoy family's good standing than you have these past few months," Draco said quietly, calmly. Perhaps challenging his father wasn't the best of ideas, he thought a moment later from the ground, his blood spilling onto the pristine marble of the room his father had chosen for this particular session.

"You dare to be so impudent?" his father sneered at him, his wand raising once more. "I'll beat the impudence out of you!"

Draco kept his head held high. "A Malfoy bows his head to no one," he said coldly, and had the pleasure of watching his father's expression jerk in surprise. Then he could do nothing more than scream as he was writhing away under the force of his father's Cruciatus curse once more.

When he came out of it, a shaking and sobbing wreck on the floor of the hall somewhere deep within the manor, alone and still bleeding, Draco realized that maybe hiding behind Harry and letting him take care of his father might not be such a bad idea. After all, it wasn't like Harry would think less of him for it.

ooOOooOOoo

When Severus arrived at Spinner's End once more for the summer, it was only with the intention of packing away his few important books that he kept in the hovel and returning to his Lord's side once more. His plans were derailed, however, by the Headmaster sitting in his small living room, waiting for him.

"Headmaster?" Severus asked politely, even as he settled his bag of books onto the floor of the cottage. "Was there something I could help you with?"

"Severus, you are one of the most skilled Potions Masters I've met in all my years," the Headmaster began, and Severus fought down a groan. Rare were the good things that began with such an effusive compliment from a man such as the Headmaster. "You are more than capable of brewing just about any potion we put before you, and making one up if one does not exist."

Severus bowed his head. "You flatter me, Headmaster," he said, voice smooth despite his curiosity. What did the man want him to brew, and why was he very much not liking the direction this conversation appeared to be headed in?

"Severus, I'll need to add another duty to your already quite onerous list of tasks for the year," the Headmaster said gravely. "You see, our newest Defense Against Dark Arts professor will require the Wolfsbane Potion brewed for him before every full moon. Will you be up to the task?"

Severus fought down a groan. Wolfsbane. The Headmaster must be certifiable, to hire a werewolf to teach in a school full of children. But at least the Wolfsbane would render the werewolf in question relatively harmless. "I can certainly manage that, Headmaster. In fact, the difficulty of the potion will be a welcome relief after dealing with dozens of botched first year attempts each and every day."

"I'm glad to hear that, Severus," the Headmaster said cheerfully. "Well, then, I can see that you were packing, so I'll just leave you to whatever holiday you have planned. Both Professor Lupin and I thank you ever so much for this."

Severus waited until he was certain that the Headmaster was gone before letting out a round of vicious swears. He hated werewolfs in general and Lupin in particular. This coming school year was going to be nothing short of a nightmare.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry frowned at the adults at the table over dinner. It had been only a week since school had let out and Draco had already been caught once by Lucius. Harry hadn't left his side since he'd found Draco bleeding in a disused hall within the manor and, for once, Draco hadn't pushed Harry to not hover over him. Perhaps Draco was finally seeing the light?

So that might explain the somewhat peeved expression on Lucius's face, but what did that have to do with the Dark Lord? Because in Harry's general experience, the Dark Lord didn't go around with a scowl for no particular reason.

~Ha!~ Tom shouted with laughter, and Harry could feel just enough of his amusement to irritate him. ~We always scowl, Harry, always. But even I'll admit that particular scowl is a bit deeper and darker than normal.~

"So does anybody want to tell me what's got everybody in such awful moods?" Harry finally tried as the adults sat around the table stabbing at their food in startling displays of childishness. Although there was a part of Harry that wanted to find a Muggle video camera and record the moment for posterity.

"We're having a werewolf teach Defense this year," the Professor said, sounding far more gloomy than Harry had heard him since last year sometime. "And that werewolf is Lupin."

As Harry had no idea what that meant, other than that it made Tom laugh softly and suddenly within his mind, he decided that it couldn't possibly be that bad and ignored that particular comment. He turned his attention one of the other adults who had been behaving like it had rained on their parade.

"It's obvious what the Headmaster is trying to do," Voldemort said darkly. "It's clear that he's trying to remove Harry from the influence of the Malfoys by surrounding him with old family friends."

"What old family friends?" Severus asked. "One's in prison, one's dead, and the other... well, I suppose Lupin will be teaching at Hogwarts, won't he? He'll have all the access to Harry that he could possibly want." Severus rolled his eyes. "I swear, the whole thing smacks of desperation. He knows something is wrong with Harry and that Harry is nowhere near as firmly on the side of the Light as he should be."

"Mmm," Voldemort hummed in agreement. "And now he's gone and done something that really should have Harry removed from the Malfoys rather quickly, as soon as he's out of mental evaluations. Because, Severus, I am grieved to tell you that he isn't in prison anymore. Apparently he was never tried and never properly interrogated with Veritaserum, so he's being issued a full pardon."

"And who is this?" Harry asked, trying to figure out just what had all the adults around him looking utterly horrified. Even Draco didn't seem entirely unaffected by the news, although he was masking his shock surprisingly better than both of his parents.

"~Your Godfather,~" both Tom and Voldemort responded in perfect stereo.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, not entirely certain he'd heard correctly.

"Your Godfather, Sirius Black, has been released from Azkaban and will doubtlessly be expecting you to come and live with him immediately following his release from the Healers at St. Mungos."

* * *

**A/N: Who's ready for some Sirius drama? Ah ha ha, I crack myself up sometimes. As always, thank you all so much for the reviews! You are all absolutely amazing! In other news, I hope to have a Christmas special, not Heir related, written and posted by Christmas, but that isn't going so well. So I can but hope that I can get it done before New Years at least. And, since I won't update here until after, Happy Holidays to everyone!**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Four

Harry decided pretty much right away that he didn't much care for St. Mungos. It was sterile and clinical and the nurse who directed him to his godfather's room had been too busy staring for several moments before she'd finally realized he actually needed something and paid attention to his question. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to actually have to stay there for any length of time, and pitied his godfather for requiring the place to recover.

~And let's be careful to make sure that you don't wind up being stuck here or anywhere else. Because as bad as it is here, Azkaban is far worse,~ Tom sent quietly. He'd been much more nervous about Harry's darker activities as of late, and Harry couldn't really blame him. He knew that the spirit worried more and more as his time... as his time drew near. But Harry took comfort in the fact that he still hadn't had another dream. That meant that Tom's time couldn't be all that near, right? ~And this is the room, Harry,~ Tom added gently, drawing Harry from his thoughts.

Harry froze. He felt quite nervous, all of a sudden. ~I don't want to go in there,~ Harry hissed to Tom, as though there might be somebody else who could hear his thoughts. He stared at the open door and added, ~Nobody in my family has ever liked me. Why should this man, this stranger, be any different?~

Harry could feel Tom considering the question. Finally, gently, Tom said, ~So do you not want to meet him? Because if you do that, I know you, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been different if you'd only had the courage to introduce yourself to your godfather once he'd finally made it out of prison.~

Harry frowned at the open door. Tom was right, and he knew it. ~But what if he doesn't like me? What if...~ Harry paused and then, in the smallest voice that Tom had ever heard from him, Harry said, ~I'm allied with the man who killed my parents, who killed his best friends. I'm a monster, Tom. And if I'm not now, I will soon be. You know it and I know it. What if...~

Harry could feel Tom's affection, his pride, his adoration wrapping around him like a warm security blanket. ~What if he doesn't?~ Tom asked, and Harry nodded slowly. Tom had a fantastic point, after all. What if he didn't? Did it really matter in the long run? It wasn't like he knew Sirius, after all. ~So here's my proposal: Don't go in there trying to get him to like you. That's only going to lead to heartache in the end. You have to go in there as yourself, Harry, or you'll only make things worse.~

Harry closed his eyes. He knew that Tom was right. He knew it. He just didn't like it. With a deep, slow breath and a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach, Harry entered the room. It was a very nice room, for all that it was sterile and white. And the bed upon which his godfather rested seemed incredibly comfortable. his godfather's eyes were closed, his hands almost skeletal, his skin pale enough to be nearly translucent. There were deep shadows under his eyes. His long black hair, however, was neat and clean, and there was no dirt under his fingernails, so at least they'd taken the care to bathe him.

~Right, I've been to see him, he's asleep, I should go,~ Harry said desperately. ~He looks like he could use all the sleep he can get, after all.~

~Harry,~ Tom sighed, fond exasperation bleeding through into Harry's mind. ~You can't actually do anything but go and say hello to him. Better to do it now than to wait until you have to move in with him, after all. It could be very awkward to find out that you're entirely incompatible when you're already living with the man.~

~Curse you and your logic,~ Harry hissed. But he stepped forward, hesitantly, and eventually settled next to Sirius' bed in the incredibly uncomfortable chair placed there for visitors. He'd always heard how uncomfortable hospitals were, but he'd hoped never to have to find out in person. Now, it seemed, he would have the opportunity to become intimately familiar with that very fact.

The sound he made settling into the chair must have been enough to wake his godfather from his sleep because bright, burning grey eyes shot open the minute Harry settled himself. Sirius' eyes darted swiftly around the room before alighting on Harry. "Who..." he began, then stopped and whispered, reverently, "Harry."

"Hi," Harry said awkwardly. Tom had fallen entirely silent within him, now, and Harry realized that he was on his own. Perhaps the spirit had gone to sleep? Bastard. "You... you must be my godfather," he said, then flinched at how... at how stupid that had sounded. Of course he was his godfather; why else would Harry be there?

"Yes, yes I am. And you... you must be... oh Merlin, how you've grown," his godfather said. His hands twitched once in Harry's direction and he asked, rather plaintively, "Don't you want to give your godfather a hug?" Then he shook his head. "No, wait, sorry, you don't know me. I know you. I mean, I remember you from when you were a little baby, but I don't... you don't know me." Sirius finally wound down and he sounded so very downtrodden.

Harry hesitated. He didn't know the man. He was being a sentimental idiot. But... he seemed so upset. He hesitantly shifted over to sit on the bed, leaned in, and carefully wrapped his arms around his incredibly frail godfather. "I don't know you," Harry agreed softly in the man's ear, "but I'd love the chance to get to fix that."

His godfather's all-too-thin arms crept up and locked around Harry with a strength that Harry wouldn't have believed the fragile-looking man to have. Harry could feel the man's shoulders begin to shake and felt his godfather bury his face in his neck and felt the wetness of tears as his godfather cried brokenly for several moments. "I'm in no kind of shape to be taking care of you, Harry. And you're probably so happy with your Aunt and Uncle. That's where you were going to stay, right?" he asked once he'd finally stopped crying a few moments later. He lowered his arms reluctantly and Harry drew back but didn't return to the uncomfortable chair.

Harry's breath left him in an explosive sigh. "You couldn't have started with anything easy, could you?" he asked dryly. "I'm not... I don't stay with them anymore," he finally settled on saying. Further, more in depth conversations could be held later, when there weren't so many potential people listening in on the conversation. He had to be very careful not to say anything that might be able to be used against him later should this man decide that Harry was too Dark for him to associate with, or that Harry needed to be locked away for his own good.

"You don't... why?" Sirius asked. His eyes were now greedily scanning Harry's face, though what he was looking for Harry couldn't say. His hands had now reached out and clasped Harry's own rather tightly, his hands almost clawlike in their grip.

Harry didn't have the heart to pull away. "My Uncle and I... we didn't get along," he hedged, "And both my Aunt and Uncle were terrified of magic. When I started to get my Hogwarts owls, well, they decided to try and run and, well, just before Hagrid fetched me for my first ever trip to Diagon Alley, Uncle Vernon had a heart attack. He didn't survive, and I guess Aunt Petunia blamed me. I haven't seen her since."

"She just... she just abandoned you?" Sirius asked. "I'm so sorry, Harry. Who did you stay with over the last summer? Does the Headmaster know about this?"

"I stayed with the..." Harry stopped, realized that maybe saying what he'd just been about to say might not have been such a good idea, and said hastily, "I stayed with the family of one of my two best friends. And yes, the Headmaster knew about it but wasn't terribly happy." That was an understatement, judging by the fact that the Headmaster had apparently managed to get his godfather out of prison just to get him away from the Malfoys.

"Why would the Headmaster be unhappy? He should have been happy that you have such good friends to stay with. I know that I'm grateful to whatever family took you in for the summer. That was wonderful of them," Sirius said warmly. He looked to genuinely mean it. Harry wondered if he'd change his tune when he realized just which family had taken him in for the summer.

And then Harry remembered Tom's advice, to not try and convince Sirius that he was something he wasn't. And so he bowed his head and said hesitantly, "Yeah, I was really grateful to Draco and his family."

"Draco... Malfoy?" his godfather asked, eyes widening in startled surprise. "I... you spent the summer last with the Malfoys?"

"And Christmas," Harry said quietly. "Draco was the very first friend that I made in the wizarding world. He's very special to me." He stared down at his hands rather than looking at his godfather. He wasn't sure that he could stand to disappoint the man and he had the feeling that was exactly what he was about to do.

It didn't help that he had no idea why it was that he cared so much. It wasn't like he knew this stranger. And yeah, okay, objectively he knew that he should feel sorry for this poor man that was coming out of Azkaban to find the world a much different place than he would have expected it to be and his godson to be much different from what he would have wanted, but that didn't explain why Harry actually did feel sorry for the man. He wasn't in the habit of pitying strangers, and this man was a stranger.

After several awkward moments of silence, his godfather cleared his throat and said softly, "I'm very glad that you've had such a good friend to help you through, even if that friend isn't exactly the one that I might have chosen for you." His godfather's voice was low and quiet and sad, and every word he spoke was measured and weighed, as though he was judging for each one for the amount of damage it could potentially do to Harry.

"That..." Harry paused, considered what he was about to say, then mentally shrugged and soldiered on. "No offense, but from everything I'd heard about you prior to this meeting, I didn't think that was the stance you were going to take on this. I'm glad to hear that everyone was wrong."

"When you live for almost twelve years in the deepest pits of hell, you learn that a lot of the things that you cared about before don't actually matter, and you learn to be grateful for what chances you get." When Harry looked up, Sirius was staring at him, his eyes burning bright with fervor. "And I am grateful, Harry, for the chance to get to know you, no matter how different you are from what I expected. And I won't... I won't do anything to mess up the chance I've been given to get to know you, even if that means making friends with the entirety of Slytherin house."

Harry cracked a smile at that, how could he not? "Well, now that you mention it, I am a Slytherin," he said softly, teasingly. "The hat didn't even really have to think about it before it assigned me there."

"Oh, no!" Sirius groaned theatrically. He chuckled a bit, then the chuckles faded and he said softly, "I just told you, Harry. You're my Godson, and there isn't a damned thing you could do to drive me away."

Harry had to swallow the sudden lump that appeared in his throat before he could speak again. When he did, he was horrified by how choked the whisper came out when he said, "I'm really glad to hear that, I think." He offered his godfather a suspiciously watery smile and asked, "So what are you going to do with yourself when you get out of this joint?" in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit. "I understand that you really want me to stay with you?"

"Yeah," Sirius said with a somewhat sheepish expression on his face. It was better than the fiercely... protective, maybe, expression that had been there before. "It's just that I doubt the family home is in good enough shape for a kid, and I'm not really sure what other Black holdings are available, if any. There's always a Muggle hotel or something until we can figure something out," Sirius said cheerfully enough, considering that he was essentially homeless at the moment.

Harry hesitated. He remembered what the Dark Lord had instructed him to offer should Sirius seem even remotely willing, but, despite his easygoing acceptance of Harry's Slytherin status, Harry wasn't entirely sure that Sirius would go for this. Finally, quietly, he offered, "The Malfoys have extended an invitation for you to join us at their Manor while you try to get yourself back on your feet."

He could see Sirius fight down his first reaction, which was doubtlessly a loud and resounding, "No!" The man closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then said quietly, "I think that would be nice, Harry." He then proceeded to offer Harry the most painful smile that Harry had ever seen.

Harry smiled back, as genuinely as he ever had. After all, his godfather was willing to, apparently, sacrifice quite a lot for him. The least he could do was give the man an honest smile or three.

ooOOooOOoo

The summer solstice typically passed without fanfare among the Weasley clan. They weren't ones to celebrate the traditional holidays, and Ron generally didn't feel the lack. This year, however, knowing that he was actually being Courted, Ron wondered if he shouldn't maybe celebrate in some way. The problem, of course, was that he didn't know any of the traditional celebrations and he strongly doubted that his parents would be willing to teach them to him. If they even remembered them, considering that they hadn't acknowledged them in a very long time.

In the end he decided not to celebrate, and instead did exactly as had become his habit for the duration of the summer: he stayed up in his room, studying. The twins would occasionally attempt to draw him out with warnings that he was 'becoming a little too like Percy,' and his parents would every now and again try to talk to him, but Ron had nothing to say. They'd given him up like a lamb to slaughter. Never mind that was actually what he'd wanted, never mind that he thought they were all insane. The point was that they thought they were sacrificing him for the 'greater good', and they weren't bothered in the least by it. It was sickening.

He huffed and tried to distract himself with a very lonely, very easy game of chess. Yes, it was lovely having pieces that could play themselves against him, but they weren't very bright, were they? He sighed and checkmated the other side once more. He put the set away, then, and settled in to study some more Potions. It wasn't like he didn't desperately need the help, after all.

A pecking on the window startled him a few hours later and he frowned as he stood to let the owl in question into the room. It was lovely with beautiful black and white feathers and piercing eyes. It hooted at him and extended its leg, and Ron immediately took the parchment from it. It, meanwhile, settled on his windowsill and began preening cheerfully, as though it hadn't a care in the world.

_Dearest Ron,_

_I was so pleased to see you wearing my locket. As you have accepted my Courtship, I have chosen to send you the lovely, incomparable Xochiquetzal, named for the Aztec goddess. Though you are no woman, I believe you will appreciate the vague meaning behind her name. Attached is a transporter with a perch for her, as well as a cage and her favorite brand of owl treats. I am given to understand that your parents have cut your allowance; I hope you will not find it too forward to say that I have arranged for a shipment of them to arrive each week. I would not wish you or her to suffer for your parents misconceptions._

_Yours truly._

Ron's breath left him explosively. "I don't suppose I can call you 'Xochi' for short, can I?" he asked the owl. Because there was no way in hell he was going to give her up. He'd been hoping that he wouldn't have to discuss his Courtship with his parents, but now it looked as though he wouldn't have a choice.

She hooted at him cheerfully, and Ron took the answer as a yes. "Well," he said quietly to her, "At least now I won't have to talk just to myself. I'll talk to you as well."

And then, with the perfect timing that all parents had, Ron heard a tapping on his door. He sighed. He didn't want to do this now. But... "Come in!" he called, and much to his amusement both of his parents entered the room together. Speaking of having to discuss things with his parents...

"Ron!" his mother exclaimed, staring bemusedly at the owl. "Who does she belong to?" she asked, and walked hesitantly over to stroke Xochi's pretty black and white head.

"She's mine," Ron said shortly. "She was given to me as a gift. And don't worry, I'm sure she can hunt for herself and my gifter has already seen to it that I'll have enough treats for her without your allowance." And that was an interesting thing. Who had been in the car when Ginny had blurted out that bit about his allowance but Draco and Harry? Nobody. So how did whoever it was know, unless one of the two had been talking about him behind his back? But no. They wouldn't do that to him.

"A... Ron, son, this is a very handsome gift. Who was it from?" his father asked, the concerned frown that Ron was so intimately familiar with coming over his features once more.

Ron sighed, because this wasn't going to go over well at all. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" his mother asked, turning to stare at him curiously.

Ron tucked the letter inside of his shirt before answering quietly, calmly, "It's a traditional Courtship gift. I don't know the gifter's name, or even their gender, though I'm beginning to suspect a male much higher in status judging by the feminine overtones of the gifts. I will undoubtedly be the lesser power in the marriage, should I accept."

He watched as the color drained from both of his parents faces. "Ron," his father began hesitantly. "You know that... your mother and I don't hold with all of that nonsense, and that we didn't teach you about it so that you would go out and... and accept a Courtship. We taught you so that you would know to avoid them!"

"I do," Ron said simply, calmly, his eyes snapping up and daring, just daring, his parents to argue with him.

"You're so young," his mother began.

Ron cut her off ruthlessly. "Twelve is when the announcement of intention is made. It's tradition. I've accepted the first gift already, and it's my intention to accept Xochi as well. And to keep accepting, until the point when I have to make a decision. Which won't be for years yet, anyway. So you can both please just let me have this. It doesn't hurt anything."

His mother closed her eyes as though Ron had just dealt her a mortal blow. She began to sniffle, then, and she walked slowly, dignifiedly from the room as though her shoulders weren't shaking and there weren't tears rolling down her cheeks. His father gave Ron, and Xochi, one last, agonized look before leaving the room after her.

Ron laid down on the bed and asked Xochi, "Shouldn't I feel worse about making my mother cry? I think Harry and Draco are bad influences on me."

Xochi said nothing in reply, but did hoot in his general direction. Ron was oddly comforted by the soft noise, and wondered what he was going to do with Scabbers now that he had Xochi to take with him to Hogwarts. Because he definitely wasn't going to leave her behind.

ooOOooOOoo

Sirius wasn't entirely sure what to think about his godson. The boy had managed, with no effort at all, to convince Sirius to stay with the Malfoys for the summer. It had been a month now, and on the one hand, Sirius was rather glad of the invitation as he had nowhere else to conceivably stay over the summer with Harry, on the other hand, they were the Malfoys. And how could they possibly even come close to counting as good influences on Harry? There was no way.

And there was something... off about his godson. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it was a little bit alarming the way that the boy would sometimes just fall silent in the middle of a conversation and stare off into space. He'd snap out of it swiftly, and then continue on as though nothing had happened, as though stopping in the middle of the conversation was perfectly normal and regular for him. And then, of course, there was the fact that when the event in question happened at dinner, nobody else acted as though there were anything at all wrong. The Malfoys all seemed to think the way that he would freeze, fork halfway to his lips, was perfectly normal. It was... worrying.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Harry offered, a bright little smile on his face. He'd been spending a few hours every day with his godfather, and while Sirius was grateful for his presence, it still managed to raise even more questions. For instance, wouldn't a wizard raised as a Muggle be more likely to say, 'A penny for your thoughts?' It was almost as though Harry had been raised as the Pureblooded Lord that he technically wasn't. It wasn't that Sirius cared about blood, of course, Merlin knew he didn't, but it was strange.

"I'm just thinking about how very weird you are," Sirius said absently, then frowned when he realized what he'd just said. "I didn't mean it like that," he added hastily, not wanting his godson to think him cruel. Not when he was trying so very hard not to be. That cruelty was partially what had made it so easy for him to wind up in Azkaban, after all.

Harry frowned. "I am very strange, aren't I?" he finally said, after several of those strange moments of silence. "I don't talk at all like a Muggle would, and I don't behave much like one either, do I? I suppose I'm nothing like you imagined I would be when first you met me."

"I don't know that I could have ever anticipated a Slytherin for a godson," Sirius said with a small chuckle. They were in one of Malfoy Manor's many sitting rooms, this one decorated in pale creams and blues. It was quite soothing and lovely and Sirius was very glad that this was the one closest to his suite. It was very calming and bright after the dark chaos that had been Azkaban. He thought maybe that the Mindhealer the Malfoys had arranged for him, one Collin Rosiver, had perhaps had a hand in that. "Your father must be rolling in his grave. I'm pretty sure he always wanted to start a Blood Feud with the Malfoys."

Sirius frowned when his godson flinched and then, as Sirius was beginning to realize was painfully normal for his godson, went into that oddly frozen state. He'd just been making a joke, really. He hadn't meant anything by it.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry closed his eyes against the pain those words brought to him. He'd tried his hardest to avoid thinking about it. After all, he'd never known his parents. How could he possibly be expected to care what they thought? He couldn't. Who could think that he would? But the fact of the matter was, he did care. His parents, after all, had loved him enough to sacrifice themselves to save his life as a child. How could he, realistically, not expect to care about what they might have thought?

It was just that it had been so very easy to tell himself that he didn't care when there was nobody around to remind him of how much he did care. After all, who was going to tell him that he was being a bad person and that his parents would have been horrified by his decision to feed his Defense professor to the school basilisk? Really, it sounded so sordid when he thought about it like that. Of course he'd known it was a very not good thing to do, but without anybody around who cared, well...

~Harry, please,~ Tom whispered in his head. ~Your parents would have-~

~Would have what, understood? I'm siding with their murderer, Tom,~ Harry hissed to him, his temper flaring hotly as it was prone to do these days. He knew that came from Tom, knew that his reading of Tom's emotions was getting worse and that only served to make things worse.

~So what, you'd rather side with the negligent asshole that left you with the Dursleys? Because while it may not have been that bad for you growing up I think we both know that was only the case because they were terrified of me.~ Tom's voice was calm and reasonable and Harry forced himself to calm down a bit. ~You know that we've got the right idea of it, Harry, even if our methods are rather monstrous.~

~I know that. I do. I'm not doubting siding with him, I just...~ Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ~I have to tell him, Tom.~

He could feel Tom's instant rejection of the idea. ~You absolutely don't, Harry. You don't. You can't. What will you do if-~

~If he rejects me? Don't you think that's something that I need to know now? Before I get even more attached to him than I already am? Because I have to tell you, Tom, I really like him. He could easily be...~ Harry stopped, but it was too late.

~He could easily be a father figure for you,~ Tom said softly, quietly, mournfully. ~And you'll need one, after I'm gone, because you'll still be so very young, Harry. And you deserve a father who can hold you outside of your own mind, who you can introduce to your girlfriends and who can play practical jokes on you and embarrass you in front of your friends. Not somebody who your friends are terrified of.~

~You've always been... you're a brother to me, Tom. And some day very soon we're going to be one person. And I... I think I'll need somebody to tell me when I'm pushing myself too far too fast the way that you try to do now.~ Harry was horrified by the fact that Tom would be gone, soon, that he would need somebody else who was older and more experienced in the ways of the world to bounce ideas off of, but there it was. He couldn't ignore the facts. Tom's time was coming, and coming quickly. He'd had the first dream and had no doubt that there would be others to follow.

~Then you're absolutely right. You need to tell him,~ Tom said, his voice now brisk and businesslike. ~You can't go on not knowing what he'll think of you once he knows the truth. And you need to know for certain that he'll stand by you.~ And then, softly, more grimly, ~And I need to be around to take steps if he won't.~

Harry finally opened his eyes once more. His godfather was still and silent, an expression of concern on his still far too gaunt face. "My parents must be rolling in their graves, yes, but for more reasons than you can have possibly guessed. Would you like to hear them?" he asked, as quietly and grimly as he could. He couldn't make this any easier on his godfather and he had no delusions that the conversation coming was going to go well at all.

ooOOooOOoo

There was something in his godson's tone that told Sirius that no, he probably didn't want to know what would have James and Lily rolling in their graves. His godson looked more serious than Sirius had ever seen him, and that was unnerving because Harry was such a very serious boy.

"Harry, I would be honored to know anything that you cared to tell me," Sirius finally said after a moment of consideration. He wasn't entirely certain that was actually the case, but he knew that to not listen to whatever it was his godson had to say would likely be the death of their blooming relationship. And Sirius wanted so desperately to be the father that Harry clearly needed. He thought that was the least he could do considering that he'd been incarcerated for so long.

He watched as his godson sighed and braced himself; for what Sirius couldn't say. Then, quietly, Harry said to him, "I totally fed my Defense professor to the basilisk that lives under Hogwarts."

It took Sirius a moment to realize what Harry had just said, and when he figured it out, he let out a dog-like bark of laughter. "That's great, Harry, you almost had me going there! Your deadpan is fantastic!" he said cheerfully. He hadn't realized that his godson knew how to prank.

But Harry... wasn't laughing. In fact, Harry was frowning rather severely at him, his arms crossed defensively. "I'm not joking," Harry said softly. "I fed Lockhart to the basilisk. It was rather anticlimactic watching him be crunched in half like that. And it wasn't nearly as gory as one might have expected. But it was incredibly cathartic."

Sirius gaped at his godson for several minutes before saying, hesitantly, "You're not kidding?" He couldn't... why would Harry... when had Harry even gotten the idea to... this couldn't possibly be right. It just... it couldn't. "Harry, why?" he asked, not even able to form more words than that. His godson was, in fact, a murderer.

"When I was four years old, my Uncle broke my arm for an infraction I can't even remember. He'd done it before. I lived my formative years in a cupboard under their stairs. When I was six, I broke a glass, spilled some water, I don't know. He beat me bloody with his belt. And when I went back to my room, I heard a voice. I thought I was crazy; who wouldn't? And I suppose in a way I am. But he's real, and he's inside me. There's been a part of him within me ever since he tried to kill me when I was a baby."

Every word was like a dagger in Sirius' heart. His godson spoke in a low, soft sing-song, his eyes vague and distant. Sirius wanted to say something, to stop the terrible words pouring from his godson's lips, but he just couldn't. He kept listening, though he really didn't want to.

"He taught me all about the world that I was destined to live in. He kept me safe, and eventually the Dursleys learned to fear him, and by extension, me. I moved out of the cupboard and into Dudley's second bedroom. And when my Hogwarts letter came, and my Uncle refused to send me, I wasn't willing to accept that. My Aunt and Uncle dragged me and Dudley to some island out in the middle of nowhere. My Uncle was frightened, panicky, and he pulled a shotgun on me. Tom wouldn't have that. He killed him... we killed him with a wandless, wordless Killing Curse."

Sirius let out a soft little noise, mournful and broken. His godson had killed. More than once. And he looked so serious even now, so grim, like he was expecting Sirius to turn and run the other way. And maybe Sirius should. He probably should, anyway. Because Harry was Dark. Darker than Sirius had ever anticipated. Sirius would only hurt himself trying to stay for Harry.

The litany continued, though. "When I went to Hogwarts, I realized quickly that I would have to make a decision. The piece of him inside of me, of Tom, of the Dark Lord, acknowledged that there was another of him floating about in the ether somewhere in Hogwarts. He was after the Sorcerer's Stone, which Dumbledore had hidden in the school. It would help him regain his body. At the end of our first year, Draco and I helped him to take it. The Dark Lord walks the earth once more, and it was in part due to my assistance."

"Harry," Sirius breathed, "the man murdered your parents."

Harry's head dipped in a formal, cold, shallow nod. "He did. The part of his soul inside of me also spared me from countless unnamed horrors at the hands of the Dursleys. I love him like I would love any of my flesh and blood friends, and the Light would destroy him and in doing so destroy me. I can't... I won't let that happen. So I chose my side. And last year, the Dark Lord gave me a task. And I fulfilled it to the best of his expectations."

"The Petrifications. I read about them in the paper, but I'd never imagined you were involved," Sirius said softly. "You're a Parselmouth, aren't you?" Of course he would be. If he really bore part of the Dark Lord's soul, he would have to be. That would be the only way to hope to control a basilisk, anyway.

"I am," Harry said with another shallow inclination of his head. "And you must have some guess as to why I've told you all of this now."

"You're making your final decision about me. If I can be trusted to remain as your godfather, or if I'm going to be Obliviated or... or worse," Sirius said grimly. He closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing that he was right. "I can't... Harry, he killed my best friends. Your parents, even!"

"And I understand that. Which is why we're not asking you to side with him. I'm just asking you not to stand against Harry." Harry's eyes, when Sirius finally reopened his own, were locked on his. They weren't green right now, no, they were dark and red. There was a strange expression on his face that Sirius hadn't seen in the month that he'd known Harry.

"You're... you're him," Sirius guessed. "You're the monster who took possession of my godson."

The abomination before him smiled slowly, all teeth and hostility. "I'm a monster, absolutely, but far less of a monster than I could have been. I could have, no, should have taken him over. Turned his body into mine and destroyed his mind and soul. When he was only six, it would have been so very easy. He was so desperate for a friend, for somebody to listen to him and love him. But I couldn't... I couldn't do it. So I taught him, instead. I raised him and I loved him and I gave him all the support that he needed. And I tried so hard not to influence him, but I suppose I failed miserably at that. I guess that's what happens when one has a black knight to rescue them instead of a white, yeah?"

"If he has you, then why does he need me?" Sirius challenged. He couldn't... he couldn't imagine standing with Harry when Harry was... going against everything that Sirius had ever believed in. But nor could he imagine standing against his godson. After all, he only had the one. And it wasn't like Dumbledore had even bothered to see about his release until he needed him, anyway. Sirius wasn't stupid; he knew exactly why he'd been released when he had been. Dumbledore wanted to pull Harry away from the Malfoys because he thought their influence over Harry was something that could be undone. If he only knew how wrong he was.

"He won't have me forever," Voldemort said quietly. "I was never designed to communicate with my host like this. I was an accident. My soul is slowly merging with his own, and it's changing him. He's so young yet, and I don't want him to... I don't want him to be the monster that I was. But it's too late for that, I suppose. He's already killed once. I didn't take my first victim until I was in my sixth year."

"So you're going to vanish and you want me to make sure that he has, what, a father figure?" Sirius asked, incredulous. "And you're out because... oh, in case I can't do this, in case I won't, you're here to either Obliviate me or to do worse. This is the only shot I'm going to get at this, isn't it?"

"We can't afford to take risks, Black. You should understand that. We cannot be cavalier with the safety of your godson. He's... more powerful than you can imagine and will very likely be the turning point in the coming war. If the war were a game of chess, Harry would be the King. You can't win on either side without him. And I won't allow him to be taken to the Light where he would be miserable."

"He wouldn't have been miserable there if you hadn't taught him," Sirius said bitterly. "But what's done is done, isn't it? For good or ill, I won't stand against my godson. Whether I'll stand with him or not remains to be seen." And then, quietly, before it could be asked but knowing that it would have to be required, Sirius drew his wand and said firmly, "I, Sirius Orion Black, do formally swear upon my blood, my bone, and my magic to never betray my godson. He shall always have a safe harbor in me." He felt the _snap_ of the magic taking effect.

Harry's eyes faded back to green and his godson offered him a tremulous smile. "I'm so glad," he whispered. He stepped forward hesitantly, as though unsure of his welcome.

Sirius' heart ached. As much as he hated the thought of what his godson could become, he knew that he had a duty to James and Lily to see this through. he stepped forward as well and, gently, carefully, enfolded his godson into a hug.

He couldn't change what already was, and he wouldn't be able to take Harry's feet from the path that he'd already chosen, but he could damn well make sure that his godson had at least one good, moral person to tell him when he was being entirely unreasonable.

Sirius would just have to get a little bit better about the whole, 'good, moral person' thing.

* * *

**A/N: So, Sirius. What do you all think? I just couldn't stand the thought of Harry losing his godfather. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Five

Xochi had been a great companion to him in the days that followed her arrival. His parents, it seemed, had taken to pretending like he just didn't exist. On the one hand, Ron was thrilled because it meant that he didn't have to deal with their lectures and their attempts to sound older and wiser as they told him how monstrous the Malfoys were. On the other hand, they were giving up on him. And Ron knew that was what he wanted, he did, but... he wasn't sure how to explain it. It was great that they were letting him be, that they were giving him a chance to be who he wanted to be, but they were doing so not because they saw that he was right, but because they were tired of arguing with him. How could they have ever loved him if they weren't willing to fight for him?

He knew that he was being irrational and that he couldn't have it both ways, but there it was. The truth of the matter, at least as he saw it. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop feeling as though they were failing him and he was failing them. It was the most frustrating thing he'd ever felt in his life.

"Ron, son, would you stay a moment," his father said quietly after dinner one night a few days after the solstice.

Ron said nothing, merely stayed seated as his siblings left the room. Ginny cast him a look as she went, a look that warned him that he was in some sort of trouble, and then she was gone. The twins hadn't even bothered to glance at him, and Percy had tutted disapprovingly. Ron was getting used to the disdain of his siblings, and of his parents. It hurt to think that he had to do so.

"Ron, sweetie, your father and I won a bit of money in the Daily Prophet drawing," his Mum said softly. "We were thinking of taking the family to see Bill in Egypt."

For a moment, Ron perked up a bit. Bill was great! He hadn't seen Bill in a year or two, and it would be... it would be awful. Merlin, Bill would hate him every bit as much as the rest of his siblings. Bill was a Weasley through and through, and he wouldn't understand what Ron was doing at all. In fact, he would probably be horrified by the Courtship and everything else. "I don't know that I really want to do that," he said quietly. He couldn't stand the thought of another of his family members hating him over this, for all that he knew it was bound to happen sometime soon.

His dad let out a small sigh. "We're sorry that you feel the need to withdraw from all of our activities over our dislike of your Courtship," his father said wearily.

Ron felt his temper flare, and he didn't bother trying to fight it back down. "Over your dislike of the Courtship?" Ron asked, incredulous. "Try the talk you had with Dumbledore. You know, the one about how my best friend is going Dark and you needed somebody Light to keep him in line? Did you think that I hadn't heard?" Ron closed his eyes and shook his head. "I did hear. And I'm disgusted that you would give me up that easily."

"Ron, honey, that isn't what we meant for you to think," his mother said desperately. "We only... Albus says..."

"I don't care what Dumbledore says," Ron said shortly, sharply. "And I'm not going to Egypt so that I can be shunned and treated like some sort of diseased fool by yet another member of this family." He stood, then, as calmly as though he hadn't just lost his temper with his parents, and left the room with all the dignity he had in him. Since he'd been observing Draco, he did the slow walk of offense very well.

His siblings were standing just outside of the door, staring as he went through. Ron didn't bother to look at any of them as he brushed past them. Their opinions didn't matter.

Thank Merlin he only had to be in this house during the summers for the next few years. He would have gone mad if he'd been stuck here all the time for the next five years.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco had deliberately not been alone with his father ever since the incident at the start of the holidays. How could he submit himself to his father's punishment when he knew... he couldn't. And his father wouldn't dare punish him in front of others, especially not when the Dark Lord might catch wind of it. Draco knew very well that his father's ways went very much against the Dark Lord's rules. It was just that up until he realized how very much his father got off on hurting him, he hadn't cared because he'd thought his father was making an effort to correct his erroneous behavior.

"You seem happier so far," Harry said softly from where he was curled up with a Defense tome. He closed the book with a resounding thump and Draco realized that he must have finished reading whatever it was that he was researching.

"Happier without my father torturing me?" Draco asked, and if it came out a bit bitterly, well, he knew that Harry wouldn't hold it against him. "Thank you, by the way," he added more softly, in a far less angry tone. Without Harry he would have never realized... but maybe that wasn't something that he should thank Harry for.

"You're welcome," Harry answered immediately. And then, in a more puzzled tone, "For what?"

Draco glanced up at him and smiled. Harry had the most adorable 'confused' expression ever. His nose crinkled up and his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out whatever it was that had puzzled him. "For making me see the light. For protecting me. Take your pick," Draco returned easily. "Although a part of me wishes that you hadn't managed to convince me that he was... you know. Because I wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that my father really is a monster."

Harry was quiet for several moments and then, quietly, "My offer still stands, you know. Say the word, and either myself or Tom will end him for you."

"Haven't you done enough killing already?" came the peevish question from Draco's cousin, Harry's godfather, who must have entered the room at some point during their conversation. He had a lovely, strange owl on his arm with black and white feathers and a curious tilt to her head.

"But Sirius, some people out there seriously-" Harry began, only to be cut off with a fiery glare from his godfather. "What?" he asked innocently.

"First of all, you impudent little snot, don't think I missed the pun on my name. I didn't. I will have my revenge for that. Second, no. You have two notches on your wand now, I'm not letting you add a third. Not yet. If somebody really 'needs' killing, then you tell me and I'll handle it. Third, this owl has a letter for you and Draco. She's a sweet little thing. Take her before I decide to reappropriate her." Sirius handed the beautiful owl off to Harry and sent him one last, suspicious glare, before turning and leaving the room, his robes flaring dramatically behind him.

"Has he been taking lessons from Professor Snape?" Harry wondered loudly.

They both chortled with amusement when they heard Sirius trip over something, who knew what, and swear loudly in response to Harry's accusation. Or in response from banging his foot against something; who knew?

"Who's the letter from?" Draco asked to distract himself from how awesome Harry was when he was being a snarky little git. Just like his godfather on his better days.

"It's from Ron," Harry answered, surprised. "Oh, Merlin, whoever his suitor is must really think the world of him. Xochiquetzal is his second Courtship gift."

Draco giggled a bit at the name; he couldn't help it. "Well, now we know the suitor is a man. Or boy, I suppose, considering that the suitor in question could be any male in Hogwarts at this point. Or even just a random stranger that Ron doesn't even really know." He sighed. "Anonymous, traditional Courtships are so very dangerous," he added glumly, "because you never know what you're getting into."

"We'll take care of Ron," Harry said with the quiet, calm assurance of one who had power and was entirely unafraid of using it. Draco hoped to one day sound half as confident as Harry often did. "And also, why does the owl confirm that Ron's suitor is male?"

"Because Xochiquetzal is a goddess of fertility and represents the sexual power of young women," Draco said cheerfully, "Meaning that Ron's suitor intends for Ron to take the feminine role in the relationship or, more appropriately in these days of gender equality, the subordinate role."

Harry blinked. "Why would... fertility? If it's a guy," Harry began, then stopped. "No, no, that still doesn't make sense. Two guys can't..."

"Two men can't get pregnant? Really, Harry, I thought that you were raised with more knowledge of the wizarding world than that," Draco said with an absolutely deadpan expression. Harry looked utterly horrified and panicked and it was too much for Draco. He burst into gales of laughter. "Merlin, Harry, you're so easy!" he said through his chuckles.

"You bloody wanker," Harry muttered, but now he was grinning and laughing too. "Wanna meet Ron in Diagon Alley? I still owe him the other half of his Christmas present, after all."

Draco frowned. Was it that time already? It had been only a week since the solstice which put it right about... "Huh. Yeah, that works," Draco said consideringly. "I can't believe it's already July."

Harry let out a groan. "I know," he moaned, and Draco chuckled. "We'll meet him tomorrow, then. I'll just send this lovely little lady off with our reply, then, shall I?" he asked.

As he spoke, Minerva the miniature lion, also known as the biggest cat Draco had ever seen, flounced into the room as though she'd known Harry was talking to another female. The bloody cat was psychic, Draco thought. And jealous, too. He watched in amusement as Harry immediately abandoned the incomparable Xochiquetzal to pay attention to his annoying cat.

"How about I just send off that response?" Draco asked as Harry scooped his cat up into his arms gleefully. He rolled his eyes when Harry entirely failed to respond. Honestly, the boy was such a baby about his bloody cat.

And Draco definitely wasn't jealous of something that was four-legged and furry. He really wasn't.

ooOOooOOoo

_"Look at the little freak crying in the corner. What do you think is wrong with it? Do you think we hurt its feelings? Does it even have feelings?" came the litany of cruel, cold voices that made Harry shake and cry all the more. But he wasn't Harry, was he? He'd never been so thin, so fragile, not when he was so old. Which meant that... he wasn't Harry right now. He was Tom. And these words hurt Tom more than anything._

_"Go away," little Tom said, his voice thin and sad and broken. "Please, just leave me be. Haven't you done enough?"_

_Harry could see, now, why little Tom was so upset. He was holding a snake, a little common garden snake, and its head had been bashed in by something heavy. There was a rock, sharp and big and bloody on one side, lying overturned on the ground._

_"It ain't healthy, the way you would hide in the corner and hiss at that little thing. Come on, Freak, we just wanted to help out. Didn't you want us to help you out?" one of the girls asked, big and bold since there was a group of them and just one of little Tom._

_Harry felt rage, pure and strong and burning white-hot in its intensity, and he realized that he was feeling what Tom felt. "I'll kill you for this," he told the girl, all tears gone in the blink of an eye. "One day, when you least expect it, I'll come back and I'll kill you for killing her. She didn't deserve this."_

_The girl and her friends were stunned silent for several seconds, and then one let out a muffled shriek and ran, sobbing, from the little corner of the yard. The other girls followed quickly after, all bawling like they weren't little murderers that had harmed an innocent snake for no reason._

_Tom, alone now, tears no longer falling, saw to burying the little snake. He would be careful never to show weakness to these little terrors again. And they would all pay._

_The world shifted and blurred around Harry and then he was standing in a flat in Muggle London, and there was a girl, the same girl, only now she was much older and she was begging. Harry knew that Tom was at his most monstrous here; he'd already made several of his Horcruxes and his appearance had begun to change to reflect that fact._

_"It ain't healthy," Tom said coldly, "the way you would hide in the corner and hiss at that little thing." It was a direct quote of the words she'd said to him what must have been at least ten years ago, and it was clear that she recognized them._

_"I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry. She was my baby, you didn't have to... please, I'm just so very sorry."_

_"She was your baby. Now she's dead. Just like my snake. But don't worry; you won't have to live with the way your callous cruelty to a defenseless child shortened the life of your spawn. At least, not for long. I'll make sure that you're dead before I leave here today."_

_It was hours before Tom would leave her, Harry knew. He could see the plans in Tom's mind, and knew that he was becoming a monster as well because he couldn't even disagree with some of them. Fortunately, he didn't have to stay and watch as the world whited out around him once more._

ooOOooOOoo

Harry woke up panting desperately for breath. He was in his room, on the floor apparently. He must have woken himself up when he'd fallen from the bed. He sat up and slid backwards until his back was pressed against the cool wall and clung to the blankets tangled around him. The dream had... Merlin, he thought maybe he would be sick.

"Harry?" soft, and hesitant, followed by a gentle knock. "Harry, are you okay? I was heading to bed myself and I heard the thumping and..." the door cracked open and Sirius peeked hesitantly around it, much like a cartoon character might. The humor was entirely lost at the moment on Harry. He was too busy trying to calm himself down, to stop himself from crying, and he couldn't manage it. And Tom wasn't saying anything. Tom wasn't saying anything so much of the time, now, it unnerved Harry. He wanted Tom to say something and... oh, Merlin. What if they'd merged?

~We haven't merged,~ Tom said tiredly. ~I just didn't ever want you to see that side of me, and I'm sorry that it hurt you.~ And then, even more softly, ~And I'm even more sorry if it didn't.~ And then he was entirely silent, and Harry wasn't entirely sure that was such a bad thing.

"Harry, hey, what's wrong?" his godfather was on the ground in front of him, now, his hands strong and gentle as they clasped Harry's own. "Bad dream, kiddo? Because I gotta tell you, I get some doozies from Azkaban, myself."

"I don't..." Harry got control over himself with some effort. He closed his eyes and considered what to tell his godfather, and finally settled on, "I dream about his past." He leaned his head back against the wall, feeling almost too tired to support himself. He was exhausted. The dream had been miserable.

"You dream... about Tom's past. Voldemort's," his godfather said, asking for clarification. It wasn't as though he needed it; who else's past would Harry dream about? But he didn't sound shocked, or horrified. And Harry wondered for the first time what Tom and his godfather had spoken of when Tom had gently but firmly taken over the conversation with the man during Harry's confession. Tom hadn't told him, and Harry had eventually stopped pushing.

"I do. It's..." Harry stopped, took a deep breath, let it out slowly and said, "It's one of the signs that he and I are merging. As the dreams become more and more prevalent, as I start to feel more of his emotions, it all means that the time is coming when he and I won't be a he and I anymore."

His godfather shifted a bit until he was up against the wall as well and wrapped a companionable arm around Harry's shoulders. "That must be frightening," Sirius said quietly, "to know that you'll be alone in your head for the first time ever since you were six years old. I know I'd be freaking out."

Harry leaned into his godfather. "I'm trying not to, but it just isn't working. Merlin, Sirius, the things that I feel now... I know that I wouldn't have ever been so angry before and now my first thought when somebody offends me is to teach them the error of their ways and I can't... I can't be like that!"

He didn't want to be like that. What had happened to the him that had been horrified by the thought of killing his Aunt Marge's dog? That version of him wouldn't have fed anybody, much less a Professor, to a basilisk. He was changing, and he knew that it was more than a little bit of Tom's influence causing it, and he wasn't entirely sure that it was good thing. But he couldn't stop it. It was too late, he knew. He'd chosen his path. He wasn't even really sad about that, not really. Not when he was being rational.

"You don't have to be like that," his godfather said gently. His arm tightened around Harry and Harry relaxed even further into his godfather's hold. "You know, it's funny, but Tom was worrying about that very same thing when he and I spoke the other day. And he's asked me to look after you, to tell you when I think you're going too far in the wrong direction. And I will, Harry, I swear. I know that you're going to have to do some bad things in this life that you've chosen for yourself, but I swear that I'll try to keep you from going too far."

Harry's breath left him in a small, relieved sigh. He couldn't say how relieved he was to know that Sirius would at least try to keep him from turning into a total monster. Because he could feel the potential, right there inside of him, and was reminded that the part of Voldemort's soul that had made its way into him had already been fractured more than once and was probably not the sanest part. For all that Tom had been so good and helpful towards him over the years. That only showed that Tom had more self-control than Harry did.

"Come on, now, you've got a big day tomorrow. Aren't we off to Diagon Alley to kidnap your friend for a few hours? I admit, I'm kinda anxious to see the Weasley clan. It's been years," Sirius prattled lightly, cheerfully, as he scooped Harry up into his arms as though he weighed nothing. And to think, only a month ago the wizard had been bedridden. It was amazing the things that magic could do.

"They're huge, intolerant, and noisy as all hell," Harry said sleepily. His godfather settled him into bed and Minerva immediately curled up with him, thrumming and purring eagerly. Harry's eyes drifted closed.

"That's it, go to sleep. Have sweet dreams of Quidditch and girls and whatever else it is that almost-thirteen year olds dream about," Sirius said softly.

"Stay?" Harry asked sleepily. He cringed because that never would have made it out had he been awake. What a pathetic, needy little sot he was being.

Sirius didn't seem to mind the request. "Whatever you need, pup," he murmured, and then Harry was flying off to dreamland on a broomstick.

ooOOooOOoo

Thankfully by the time morning rolled around Harry was much less prone to random fits of sobbing. He was much calmer and ready to forget about the entirety of last night with Ron and Draco. Tom seemed to be willing to forget as well, what little he was talking anymore. It was unnerving, for Tom to be so silent in Harry's head. He knew why he was doing it, of course, because he was trying to get Harry used to his not being there, but it was... unnerving. Harry didn't care for it at all.

But that wasn't something he should focus on right now. He should focus on the fact that he was going to see Ron, and he and Ron and Draco were going to have a lovely time, Merlin take it all. They were. It was going to be fantastic, and nothing was going to ruin it for him.

Sirius took both himself and Draco through Side-Along Apparition, one at a time. Draco went first because apparently he was less of a target than Harry was. Who knew? Sirius brought them directly to the outside of the Leaky Cauldron where, according to Ron, he would meet up with them. To Harry's surprise, Ron came through the barrier alone, looking relaxed and entirely unharried.

"Hey, mates," Ron said cheerfully, easily. "Mum and Dad gave me a few galleons to get the things I need for school and a bit of lunch for myself besides. I think they feel awful about taking away my allowance, especially since they probably thought I would have given up by now."

"Where are your parents, Ron?" Draco asked curiously, unknowingly seconding Harry's own unvoiced question.

Ron shrugged, but Harry saw a flash of something, maybe hurt? in his eyes. "Dad won the Daily Prophet Galleon Draw, Grand Prize. Something like seven hundred galleons, I think. So they took the family on vacation."

Harry felt a flash of horror. He remembered what it had been like when the Dursleys had gone on family vacations without him. On the one hand, he'd been glad to be rid of them, especially after Tom woke up and started talking to him. On the other hand, it had always hurt to never be taken anywhere, to never be considered family, even with Tom talking to him.

"They didn't take you with them?" To Harry's surprise it wasn't himself that asked that in that incredibly disapproving tone, but rather his godfather.

Ron must have just noticed who exactly was chaperoning their trip because he blanched upon looking at Sirius. He recovered quickly and said, "No, sir. But I didn't want to go. What's one more person to tell me how stupid I am for allowing a Courtship, anyway?"

"Bloody wankers," Harry muttered. "What business is it of theirs if you actually want to follow wizarding tradition? They ought to be happy that you're happy." He sort of hated Ron's family in that moment. He would make sure to... no. No, he wasn't going to let himself start plotting bloody and gory revenges for such relatively minor slights. Especially since Sirius wouldn't let him carry them out, anyway.

Ron let out a small sigh. "I can't blame them, really. I mean, ever since the feud with the Malfoys started, my family has always prided themselves on being as different from the Malfoys as they can be. In a way, I can lay the blood traitor status of my entire family at the hands of the Malfoys. And let's be real, a traditional anonymous Courtship? That's about as Malfoy-like as you can get."

Draco let out a small snort. "I will have you know, Weasley, that the Malfoys haven't used Courtship as a way of securing marriages for their young in at least three generations. At this point, all Malfoy marriages are arranged via contract."

"Do you have a contract?" Harry asked, having never thought to ask that question before. He didn't know why, but the thought of Draco having a marriage contract made him just a little bit queasy inside.

Draco's nose wrinkled. "As it happens, I do. But I'll probably scandalize all of the Pureblooded community when I break the contract with her. I refuse to marry a woman who looks like a pug and I couldn't possibly tell you what my parents were thinking contracting me to a Parkinson." Draco's words dripped with disdain and, although Harry knew it was terribly cruel of him, he couldn't help the laugh that emerged from him. "Something funny, Potter?" Draco asked haughtily, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

"Just that you're so arrogant, Malfoy," Harry said cheerfully. "Now, Ron, I believe that I owe you the other half of your Christmas present, don't I?" he asked, and latched one arm Ron's shoulders. It was awkward because Ron was so much taller than him, but the redhead only chuckled.

"Harry, don't feel obligated to do that. My older brother's old wand works just fine for me," Ron protested.

Sirius frowned. "I wasn't aware that the Weasleys were so poor that they couldn't afford to purchase you a wand of your own," he said unhappily. "They should know better; a wizard's magic will only reach its full potential if the wand chooses it. And your brother's wand chose him, not you. Secondhand wands almost never work as well as one owned by just one person."

Ron let out a small, despondent sigh. "I was hoping I could talk you out of spending so much money on me," he muttered. "I just feel weird with.. well, first with Draco's clothes, which I am grateful for and I love them don't get me wrong, and then there's Xochi and now with this. I don't know, it makes me feel like a charity case."

Draco let out a small, irritated huff. "You are not a charity case," he said flatly. "You are a friend, and a Malfoy cannot be seen with people who cannot attire themselves appropriately. Therefore, it is my job to attire you so that I'm not embarrassed by you every time we go out in public together."

Harry snorted. "I don't have that good a reason," he said cheerily as he began to drag Ron in the general direction of Ollivanders. "I just want to make sure that the next time the shit hits the fan, if indeed there is a next time, you'll have a wand that is perfectly suited to you."

Ron sighed. Harry could hear the resignation in it and smiled as Ron stopped resisting Harry's tugging. Victory was a sweet, sweet thing.

"Besides," Sirius said cheerfully, "I need to pick up a new wand as well. After all, the blighters in the Ministry snapped mine when they brought me in."

Harry froze. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been going all this time without a wand?" he asked his godfather, anger bleeding into his voice. "Sirius, you could have gotten yourself injured or something!" The Manor was home to all sorts of dangerous people, after all, like Lucius, and Voldemort himself. And Sirius was... well, impertinent seemed a fitting adjective. If Sirius couldn't defend himself...

"It wasn't like I was cleared to use magic, anyway," Sirius said defensively.

Harry groaned. It was going to be a long day, he could feel it.

ooOOooOOoo

Actually, the day flew by once they'd gotten started. Ollivanders had been their first stop, and Sirius had wound up with a lovely wand of Ebony and Unicorn Hair, which Ollivander had seemed quite pleased by. Ron wound up with a wand of Blackthorn and Dragon Heartstring, and he seemed a little awed by the power of the simple Lumos he had cast while they were still in the store. Harry was pleased to see that his friend had a bit more power than he'd been showing evidence of, not because he was ashamed to be friends with somebody without much magic, but because he'd been a bit concerned that Ron wouldn't be able to protect himself if it came down to it. Now he had no worries.

Now, they were in the bookstore, and Ron was busy struggling to find all of the textbooks that he would need for the next year in the second hand section. Harry was on the floor helping him out by going through the lowest shelves, and Draco was, rather irritably, helping sift through the dusty piles on the floor of the small, dark, musty shop. His nose wrinkled in disgust every time he had to go through one of the poorly-cared-for piles.

"Alright, that's enough of this," Sirius said calmly, quietly, pulling all three children from their searching. "This is ridiculous. Ron, I'll get your schoolbooks, but we're not having you buy these ratty things when it's just as easy for us to pick them up for you."

Harry winced. That was rather graceless of his godfather. Ron might be a little bit offended by the cruel statement, but honestly, Harry had been about at that point himself. It was ridiculous trying to find the right books and editions in this pile of junk. If the Weasleys went through this every year, well, more power to them he supposed.

"Sir, if you're bored it's fine, I'll just look for myself. It isn't anything that I'm not used to," Ron said quietly. He was looking down at his shoes, now, immaculate of course thanks to Draco's Christmas present, but still.

"It isn't that," Sirius said impatiently. "Your parents just won money. They're off having a grand time, and you're here buying second hand books. Doesn't that strike anybody but me as a bit odd?" He shrugged. "Besides, I remember what it was like to be the black sheep of my family. We black sheep have to stick together, you know."

It was the right thing to say, Harry thought, because Ron's face lit up into a smile. The rest of their trip went much more smoothly after that, and at the end of it all, when Sirius asked permission to owl Ron, Ron accepted with a grin. Harry honestly couldn't say if that was the start of an unholy friendship, or if it would be good for Ron in the end.

Of course, there was always the possibility that it could be both. And he was glad that Sirius seemed to like his two best friends as much as Harry did. That could only be a good thing, right?

* * *

**A/N: Alright, guys, it's that time again. I've caught up to myself once more. I'm doing a class this winter, which means that I've got a ton of work to do in the next month, and on top of that I'll be out of town with limited computer access the next two Fridays. Hurray school trip to London! Does that mean you won't see an update? Maybe. Don't panic, though, and know that I'm working hard to get ahead once more!**

**As always, thank you all so much for your lovely reviews. They mean the world to me!**


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Six

Severus felt awkward in the robes that he hadn't worn in a decade. He had kept them, of course, because they had been one of the few tangible things to remind him of his Lord, his lover, his everything while the man had been dead. Dumbledore had no idea that he'd kept his Death Eater robes and mask, safely hidden away in the bottom of a trunk in the back of his closet at Hogwarts. He hadn't been prepared for the feeling of nostalgia that hit him as soon as he'd re-dressed himself.

"You look lovely, my Severus," Tom murmured to him, even as he took the all-white mask from his hands. He threw it away, to the floor, and took Severus' lips in a brutal kiss. "Almost too lovely to go with us tonight."

Severus let out a wordless noise of protest even as his fingers knotted in his Lord's robes. He relaxed into the kiss and let his eyes flutter closed. He knew that his Lord wasn't serious in the least. Severus was one of his best duellists, after all. And with their mission tonight, well, his Lord would need them all if they were to have a hope in hell of seeing this through.

Severus was pushed backwards, his back hitting the wall with a thump, his head pressed back as his Lord attacked his neck with all the fervor of a starving vampire. "My Lord, please," Severus gasped out. His body was responding; how could it not? And that would have been fine except that they simply didn't have time for this.

His Lord pulled back reluctantly, but not nearly far enough for Severus' peace of mind. "This will be dangerous, tonight," Tom murmured against his lips, his fingers running idly through Severus' hair as though he couldn't even remember that he was doing it. "And you, my Severus, have always been the best of me. If you die in this assault..." His Lord trailed off and he buried his face in Severus' neck.

"I won't die, my Lord," Severus promised quietly. He curled his arms around his Lord and savored the brief moment wherein his Lord actually trusted him to shelter him from the storm of his emotions. Such vulnerable moments were incredibly rare for the Dark Lord, and Severus felt truly blessed to the only person his Lord trusted enough to let go with.

"You won't," Tom murmured, and took his lips once more in an even fiercer kiss. Severus felt a sharpness, tasted the iron tang of his blood, and knew that his Lord had bitten him in his fervor. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and it certainly wasn't the last. Tom drew away slowly and murmured, "You won't die, because you're going to have somebody guarding your back the entire time."

Severus let out a small, irritated hiss. "My lord, I am a grown man. I am more than capable of taking care of myself," he said flatly. He was not amused. His Lord had tried this tactic during the first war, and Severus had been every bit as unamused then as he was now. This was just ridiculous.

"For me, Severus," his Lord pleaded against his lips. He ground his body against Severus' own and Severus groaned.

"That is an unfair tactic, my Lord," he muttered, even as his own body arched in response. He boldly leaned in and stole his Lord's mouth in a kiss and smiled when it was returned with equal passion. His Lord was needy tonight. Understandable, considering where they were headed.

"I don't know what I would be without you," his Lord murmured softly as they both panted and tried to catch their breath in the aftermath of their ardor. "I cannot stand the thought of losing you. It makes me madder than I already am."

Severus was so hard it hurt and he blamed his Lord for starting something that they simply didn't have time to finish. But he wasn't a master of himself for nothing, and with a few deep breaths and some stern concentration, he managed to calm himself enough that he felt more than capable of saying, "I don't like the idea of having a bodyguard like a child."

"I'll worry about you constantly in the field. Please, Severus, especially tonight of all nights. This is so dangerous and you could be killed and I..." His Lord closed his eyes, then, but not before Severus could spot the devastation that the man felt at the thought of Severus dying.

Severus felt like the most selfish person in the universe right then. How could he care about feeling emasculated when his Lord was practically having a panic attack at the thought of losing him? He was being ridiculous. Never mind that Severus knew that he was in no danger tonight, never mind that he knew that he was perfectly capable of defending against anything that might come their way, he knew that he was being ridiculous. After all, if he knew it then what did it matter if his Lord felt the need to assign him a guard.

"I don't like the idea," he said quietly, resignedly, "But, my Lord, if the idea of me being unguarded in the field distresses you so, then I suppose I shall have to succumb to whatever guard it is that you deem necessary to inflict upon me."

His lord smiled, pleased, and pressed a much softer, sweeter, gentler kiss to his lips. "Severus, thank you," he murmured. He drew back, then, and straightened both of their robes with a few strategic tugs. "There is..." He hesitated, which was rare enough in and of itself.

"There is?" Severus asked, one eyebrow raising. It was unlike his Lord to hesitate.

"There is one more thing," Tom murmured, and walked over to the bed. There was a package upon it, a gift that Severus had certainly spotted and wondered about but hadn't bothered to ask over. Either his Lord would tell him or he would not, and it wasn't as though the gift would be for him. After all, there were no occasions that his Lord might feel important to mark in the near future.

"My Lord?" Severus asked, puzzled, as he was handed the box. It was wrapped in plain black paper with no bow. "What is this?"

"I'd like you to wear this tonight," his Lord answered calmly. "Go on, Severus. Unwrap it."

Severus did so, and opened the box the wrapping paper obscured. His breath left him in a startled gasp. The box contained a new version of his old mask, this one made of platinum and encrusted with emeralds in that formed ornate snakes. It was lovely. "My Lord," Severus breathed softly.

"You are the most important thing in my life at this moment, my Severus," his Lord murmured in a rare fit of sentimentality, "And I would have the world know it. But the design of the mask serves to make you even more of a target, which is why I will require you to have a guard from here on. Are we clear?"

And how could Severus argue with that? "My Lord, it is my honor to wear this, and to be guarded by whomever it is that you have chosen to do so," he whispered, and bowed his head to try and hide the look of adoration he couldn't quite force from his face. He was pretty sure he failed in that.

His Lord chuckled softly, tilted his head back up, and kissed him fiercely once more.

They were not in time to the war council his Lord had called, but Severus couldn't quite bring himself to care even if everybody in the room knew exactly why they'd been late.

ooOOooOOoo

Dinner at Malfoy Manor was very quiet. Both the senior Malfoys, as well as Professor Snape and the Dark Lord were missing. Sirius was more relaxed than normal, but Harry was anxious.

"Where do you think they are?" Harry asked for the third time. Tom was being utterly silent within his mind once more, which was always incredibly unnerving, ~Tom?~ he tried, and was entirely unsurprised to receive no response. Maybe Tom was trying to figure out how to slow down their inevitable merge?

"I think that it's none of our business where they are, considering that you're only thirteen," Sirius said cheerfully. "Now eat your vegetables. They'll make you grow up big and strong."

Draco snorted softly. "Wherever they are, I heard my godfather and the Dark Lord arguing on their way to the ballroom they normally use for their big meetings. Apparently the Professor now has a bodyguard."

"And you are also only thirteen, and it's still none of your business," Sirius sang. "Now eat your vegetables, too."

Harry sullenly ate one of the sprouts of asparagus on his plate. "You know, there's nothing wrong with a healthy bit of curiosity," Harry pointed out. "It isn't like I want to go with them or anything." Even if he kind of did. But Sirius didn't need to know that.

~I have the feeling, if they're doing what I believe they're doing, you don't have the spellwork necessary to be an asset to the team.~ Tom's voice was low and calm, as though he hadn't just been ignoring Harry for most of the past few days.

~And what do you think they're doing?~ Harry asked. Maybe Tom would give him the answer that he wanted. Of course, with the way Tom had been behaving lately, he was more likely to side with Sirius.

After a moment, where Harry could practically feel Tom thinking it over, Tom said, ~If I was the one out there, I would imagine that I would be working on freeing some of my best agents from the clutches of Azkaban. But that would be an incredibly dangerous assault and I don't know that I would have the manpower to accomplish such a thing.~

"Tom thinks that they're going after the Death Eaters stuck in Azkaban," Harry said quietly, all joking gone from his voice. If that was what they were doing, then no, he had no interest in being involved in that.

Sirius frowned. "And how does he think..." Then he shook his head. "You know what? Never mind. It's none of my business. And it's none of either of yours. So both of you, please, eat your vegetables, and then I figure we can go flying before it gets too dark."

"I hate asparagus," Draco said mournfully. "But fine. If we get to go flying afterwards."

Harry wasn't particularly in the mood to fly, or to eat his asparagus, but it wasn't like there was anything else to do. ~And it's good for you to go out and have fun. You know, like the child you spent your first year reminding me that you were,~ Tom said cheerfully.

Harry sighed and resentfully stabbed his asparagus. "Right, flying. Sounds like a blast," he said dryly. It wasn't like he actually wanted to be on the suspected Azkaban assault anyway. He was still just thirteen. What good would he be against the Dementors?

ooOOooOOoo

The ballroom was full, but that wasn't unnerving at all to Severus. What was unnerving was that he had no idea what was on the agenda for the evening. Oh, he had a better idea than most of those in the room, considering the potions he'd been asked to brew for the occasion, but an idea was certainly not a guarantee.

"So, you're to be my charge, then?" came an oddly-familiar voice that Severus couldn't quite place just off to his left.

He turned, one eyebrow raised. Not that anybody could see it, of course, considering that his mask was already firmly in place. "And you are?" he asked coldly. The other was tall and slender and also wearing his mask, though Severus couldn't shake the feeling that he knew the man.

"I've been given the codename of Mordred," was the cheerful response. "And guarding you is my only task on this mad night."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Mordred, hmm?" he asked, wondering. Was this, perhaps, another spy for the Dark that was guarding him? Perhaps a spy among the Ministry? His name certainly suggested something of that nature.

"Indeed. And you are, of course, Nightshade?" Mordred's voice was incredibly, incredibly familiar, and Severus couldn't help but wonder just where he'd heard it before. It was definitely one that he'd heard many a time over an extended period of time. Which led him to relax, slightly. Perhaps this was one of his graduated Slytherins. That certainly made sense. A second generation Death Eater, then.

"I am," Severus agreed, secretly loathing the name his master had chosen for him all those years ago, when the need to not have their names on display for the word to potentially see had been much greater.

In this day, after their first staggering loss, after the trials, after everything that had happened at their horrifying loss of the first war, the names weren't so vitally important. At least, not among those who had already been forcibly unmasked by the Ministry. But his Lord did love his theatrics, and so the names stayed in place.

Mordred's mask, unlike the others, was a solid black, making it appear oddly as though he had no face. Undoubtedly, that was a symbolic thing as well. Severus frowned. "So, you say that I am your only task this evening? Do you know what our task is to be, then?"

Mordred's head dipped in a nod. "I do, as a matter of fact," he said quietly. "And I suspect that a Potions Master such as yourself has a very good idea of what our goal is as well."

Severus nodded. "Of course. There aren't many things that we could be up to that require the level of cheering potions I've had to make this past week." He did not say aloud his suspicions, though, because one could never be certain just who was listening in gatherings such as these.

In that moment, his Lord signalled for the attention of his Death Eaters, so few in number at the moment, and Severus turned his focus to him. "My faithful," the Dark Lord said, and there was only the slightest of sneers to his voice, "tonight we do that which will reveal our presence to the world at large once more. We have had a year to plan and to recruit whom we may, and now the time has come to reward our most faithful brethren: Those who suffer and did not deny me."

Severus' breath left him in a soft, barely there sigh. He had been right. They were going to storm Azkaban. This night was surely going to be their maddest yet. Worse even than that insane Halloween almost thirteen years ago. Suddenly, with confirmation of their goals before him, Severus wasn't nearly so put out that he'd been given a guard. Dementors, after all, were nasty business, and his Patronus never had been quite what it should..

All around him, cries went up as his Lord stirred his faithful into an ever-greater frenzy. This was insanity and foolishness, and yet, Severus felt the hot rush of battle beginning to sing within his veins. They were finally going to war once more. The Light would finally learn that the Dark could never truly be defeated. For good or ill, it seemed that it was time to make their move.

ooOOooOOoo

The night was dark, perhaps darker than it should have been. It was the night of the new moon, but even the stars were gone at this point, blotted out by some dark ritual the ladies of the Death Eaters had performed. Severus had known, academically, that the wives of the Death Eaters would occasionally perform rituals to better aid them, but this was the first time he'd ever seen one in effect. It was stunning to watch as the very stars above them were obscured from sight.

It was a rare thing that the Dark Lord deemed a woman suitable to join in combat, and traditionally only those barren or defective in some other form were risked in that manner. In fact, the only female Severus could ever actually remember joining the rest of the Death Eaters in combat was Bellatrix Lestrange herself. The woman, while mad, had always been one of their best fighters. There was little doubt in Severus' mind that she was the one they sought so eagerly to retrieve tonight. Her, and perhaps dear Barty.

Their canoes glided silently over black waters, towards the tower looming in the ever-shortening distance. Severus and Mordred, whoever he was, were in the canoe at the very front of the pack, with the Dark Lord himself. Severus was using these last few moments to try and calm himself down. He took several deep breaths, letting each one out slowly. Fear and panic would do him no good here. Not that he would ever admit aloud to either.

Despite his moments of preparation, landfall came far too quickly. The moment they docked, Aurors began to swarm them. Severus drew his wand grimly and began to fire off curses. As one of the greater duellists among the Death Eaters, it was his job to distract the Aurors and allow the strike team seeking the captured Death Eaters to sneak past them. Once inside Azkaban, the team would only have to worry about Dementors rather than human targets that could curse them as well.

He and Mordred were the only two that stayed behind with the boats, and together they handled the ten Aurors rather admirably. "Firewhiskey?" Mordred offered, once the last one had fallen to a Killing Curse fired from either side.

Severus snorted, amused. "No, thank you." He shook his head in disapproval and added, "And you shouldn't either. We must stay sober in the event that our companions inside the prison require our assistance."

Mordred snorted. "As if one pull of this could make someone like you drunk, Professor," and there was something in his voice that made Severus' eyebrows raise. A sort of admiration that Severus was unaccustomed to hearing from any of his former students, much less ones that he didn't recognize.

"And how would you know that?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Mordred let out a little giggle. "There's a slight possibility that some of my mates and I spiked your drink when I was just graduating from Hogwarts," Mordred whispered in a confiding tone.

Severus immediately reevaluated just who Mordred likely was. None of his Slytherins would have dared. Which meant that Mordred was an entirely unknown quantity. "How juvenile," he drawled, instead of blowing up. This was most assuredly not the time for such behavior. "See to it that no such behavior is engaged in any longer."

Mordred giggled again and said, "No, Professor, I wouldn't dare. Now you'd be looking for it." He shrugged and added, "And besides, isn't it my job now to protect you from such things as spiked drinks?"

Severus let out a small groan and hoped that things moved quickly inside the prison. If he was stuck out here with this... this unknown cretin for much longer, his Lord might come back to find the man dead of a suspicious curse to the back.

And then, as if in answer to his thoughts, the Dark Lord and his followers came streaming out the prison, triumph in their every move. They had, insanely enough, won this particular fight. It seemed a little easy to Severus, but he wasn't in the practice of looking gift horses in the mouth.

He'd worry about what this early victory would cost them later.

ooOOooOOoo

"I trust there were no problems with your new guard?" Voldemort asked quietly once they were finally alone in their rooms after securing their recovered allies in rooms around the Manor. Rosiver had already begun making the rounds with his pet monster at his side. Hopefully some of their better agents, such as Bellatrix Lestrange, would be back up and moving shortly.

"Other than the little shit admitting that he made an attempt at spiking my drink when he was still in Hogwarts? No, nothing went terribly wrong." Severus was scowling at the mask he'd just taken off, and Voldemort found the expression to be quite adorable. Of course, it helped that Voldemort found everything that Severus did to be quite adorable.

And then the exact wording of Severus' complaint hit him, and Voldemort let out a small chuckle. "Oh he did, did he?" he murmured, and Severus turned to shoot him a suspicious look. "How dare he," Voldemort continued, playfully. "Shall I see him punished for you?"

"No, that's fine. We cannot punish him for something he did before he was even your follower, I suppose," Severus responded, even if it was clear that he didn't entirely believe what he'd just said.

"Shall I apologize on his behalf, then?" Voldemort asked, sidling closer to his lover. His blood was rushing in his ears; he was still partially high from the battlelust. They'd survived, and more than that. They'd won the day. That sounded like it deserved a celebration to him.

"You, my lord, are insatiable," Severus murmured.

Voldemort wasn't hearing a no, and he was more than willing to work with that.

ooOOooOOoo

When Ron woke up the next morning, he was more than ready to go back to Hogwarts. He'd been packed for the past two nights, since his family had gotten back from their vacation. He wanted to be ready to go at a moment's notice, because things between himself and his mother were getting more and more tense. It was painful, now, for Ron to be around his family at all.

And now, finally, the day had come. It was time to get out of here and make his way back to the school. He couldn't wait. He was so done with this nonsense. Honestly, he had the sinking suspicion that he wasn't going to make it through another summer at the Burrow. Part of him mourned that, absolutely, because he did genuinely love his family. Another part of him, the greater part of him was more than ready for it to come.

"At least I have you," he murmured to Xochi, who continued preening as though she hadn't heard a word he said. But he knew she was listening. As his mysterious suitor had implied, Xochi was a fantastic keeper of his secrets. "And of course there's always Harry and Draco, too," he murmured as he ran an admiring finger over Xochi's breastbone.

He dressed, then, in his Hogwarts robes to avoid another argument over his rich wardrobe, and went downstairs. The table was full, but everyone around it was oddly silent and grim. "What's up?" he asked, wondering if maybe he wasn't going to get a chance to come back next summer at all.

"I'm sure that you won't see any problem with this," his mother said with a little sniff of displeasure. She handed Ron the day's issue of _The Daily Prophet_.

Ron studied the newspaper, his eyebrows raising as he read the article in question. "Mass breakout at Azkaban," he murmured, thoughtful. "Of course that's awful, Mum, it says that ten Aurors lost their lives in the raid. Not to mention all those criminals back out on the street."

His mother stared at him suspiciously, but Ron just offered the paper back with no inflection on his face. Privately, he couldn't help but wonder if Harry had been involved, and if so, how many people his friend had killed.

He was sure that if Harry had been involved, he would hear all about it once they were sure that it was safe to talk on the train. He supposed he could wait until then to find out. Well, he supposed he didn't really have much of a choice, anyway.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry, for the first time ever, actually had trouble of letting go of someone when it came time to board the Hogwarts Express. Sirius was clinging to him, too, and Harry patted him awkwardly on the back. "I'll be fine," he promised his godfather. "I don't even have any jobs to do this year. My only task is just to be a normal kid for the rest of the year, that's it."

Tom snorted in his head, but the sound was soft and faint and hurt Harry's heart. The spirit had been growing more and more quiet, and Harry was starting to think that maybe the merge might complete by the end of the year. He hoped it wouldn't, Merlin did he hope, but he had the sinking suspicion that in this particular instance, his hopes didn't really matter.

"Actually, I do have a job for you," Sirius said, and drew away finally. He pulled an envelope out for Harry and handed it over. It was addressed to one Remus Lupin, their Defense teacher for the year. "Give this to Moony for me, would you? He... I haven't written him yet, and I wasn't sure until just last night that I wanted to. But now I don't trust any letters I send to him to not go through Dumbledore's hands, and Merlin knows I can't let Dumbledore know... anything. So I need you to deliver this for me."

Harry smiled. Sirius was a good godfather, willing to keep his secrets at the very least. It was the smallest of things that he could do to repay the man for his affection and his silence. "I'd be happy to deliver your letters to one another," Harry answered.

He hugged his godfather tightly one last time, then withdrew and made his way to the train. Draco had boarded some time ago, and had scoped out their normal seat on the train. When Harry caught up to him, he was glowering in consternation at the occupied compartment.

Harry frowned. And then he smiled. "What luck," he murmured. "Sirius was just asking me to give our new teacher this letter," he informed Draco.

Draco's lips lifted into a sneer, but he wiped that from his face at Harry's disapproving frown. Instead of whatever scathing comment the blond had doubtlessly been poised to make, instead he said, "He looks like he's sleeping. Should we maybe find a different compartment and check back later to see if he's up?"

Harry shook his head. "Ron will look for us here," he answered. "And as long as we're quiet I suppose we won't disturb the good Professor." With that in mind, he entered the compartment and settled in for the train ride.

Ron joined them only moments later and frowned at the sight of the Professor. "Well, I guess that means that I can't ask you my question," he grumbled.

Harry's eyebrow arched, and Ron said nothing but wordlessly shook his head. Harry shrugged and said, "So, Sirius was saying that because of the recent breakout, they might have Dementors out and about where we wouldn't ordinarily see them. He was teaching me the theory behind the Patronus charm. Any interest anyone?" he asked cheerfully.

Both Ron and Draco knew, he was certain, that Sirius hadn't been telling him any such information. The warning had come from Voldemort, and the information on the Patronus had come from a very weak Tom. Harry had cast his first one wherein something at all had appeared only hours before leaving for the train. He'd only managed some fog, but Tom assured him that with work he'd be able to do much more than that. It was just a matter of getting started on the practice.

ooOOooOOoo

Remus Lupin woke to the sound of children's voices. He didn't move, unsure for a moment of where he was or what he was doing. It took him several moments, but eventually he recalled that he was on the Hogwarts Express, and not... not there. Not any longer. The moon cycles were getting worse, and even now, two full weeks after the last full moon, his body felt like he'd been run through the ringer. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd last like this. Fortunately he would have the Wolfsbane potion for the year, and that would either give him a chance to rest his tired old body or kill him because Snape couldn't be trusted not to poison him.

He figured it was a sign of how far he was gone that either option actually sounded okay to him.

"Professor Lupin? Are you awake, then?" came one of the children's voices.

Remus forced his eyes open, and froze. He was greeted immediately by the sight of Lily's eyes, staring at him from James' face. Harry, then. And his companions were odder to see than Albus had prepared him for. Yes, Albus had mentioned that Harry had managed to negotiate some form of truce between two members of feuding families, but he hadn't imagined those two families would by the Weasleys and the Malfoys.

"I am, Mr. Potter," Remus offered, and winced at the raspy tone to his voice.

Something flashed over little Harry's face, there and gone before Remus could even truly consider what he'd just seen, and the young man offered him a smile. "My godfather sent this for you," he said, and offered him a letter. "I would have woken you to give it to you, but you looked like you needed the rest."

"I have been a bit under the weather," Remus admitted, and took the letter hesitantly. He couldn't imagine that Sirius would actually have anything nice to say to him, considering that Remus had just... hadn't been able to... he just couldn't picture Sirius having anything kind to say to him.

"Would you like some tea, Professor?" the Malfoy boy asked politely, though it clearly cost him to do so. "We could flag the trolley lady down once more."

"No, thank you," Remus responded mildly. "I'm sure we're almost at the school by now."

Harry beamed at him. "We are, Professor, but I was hoping that before we arrived you might be willing to tell me a little bit about my parents? And maybe Sirius? Because I know there's things that he's not telling me!"

Remus fought down a groan. "Of course I can," he answered, instead. Of course Albus had been right, of course the child was curious about his parents and godfather. Remus would be able to use this to make himself the boy's friend. If he chose to, that was to say. Merlin, this was going to be a terrible year. He just hoped that whatever agenda Albus was playing with now didn't wind up hurting the three children in front of him.

ooOOooOOoo

Albus scowled at the newspaper article in front of him. This was unacceptable. The Dark Lord was making his move already, and Albus had no idea what he was going to do about it. He'd lost control of this chess match a long time ago, and the time was long since past to take that control back. But how? Harry was under the influence of so many terrible people, now, how was he going to...

Huh. That was certainly a thought. If he could only remove the worst of the influences, if he could just get rid of the Malfoy boy, surely both Harry and Ron would snap back into line. Surely he could bring them both back properly into the Light where they belonged.

Now, the question was simply how to get rid of the Malfoy brat? Surely it couldn't be that difficult a thing to do. The trick was not making the school liable in any way for whatever it was that happened, because Lucius Malfoy would doubtlessly not be happy should anything permanent happen to his heir, and Albus couldn't afford the sort of bad publicity a death on school grounds would bring. But what about...

Albus smiled, a slow and dangerous thing. He'd just had the most brilliant idea. Now he only had to find the perfect person to use to carry it out.

* * *

**A/N: So, long time no update, huh? Guys, I'm sorry. London was fantastic, but I got bronchitis shortly thereafter, and then the school semester started, and everything's just kind of snowballed. The good news is, now I'm back! I'm optimistic that this was the last pause in my updates until the end of Book One, so look forward to more next week!**

**And let me know what you all thought! Also, happy Valentine's Day!**


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

"How was your summer, Potter?" came the cordial question the moment Harry had settled down at the table with the other Slytherins.

Harry's eyebrow went up and he said to Pansy, "Lovely, thank you. And yours, Pansy?" in the most cordial tone he had. The Parkinson girl didn't normally speak to him, jealous as she was over Harry's friendship with her betrothed. And the other girls tended to avoid whomever Parkinson was avoiding. Harry wasn't entirely sure he understood much about that, and all that Tom would do when prodded in past years was chuckle over jealousy and the logistics of pack mentality. Harry didn't get it.

"Wonderful, although I did miss Draco. He didn't seem to make his way over to Parkinson Manor at all this summer," Pansy answered, a polite smile still on her lips.

"You don't need to talk about me as though I'm not right here, listening," Draco pointed out. "I had more to do with my summer than visit and attend your ridiculous parties this year, Pansy."

Harry considered the matter and realized that yes, the summer before this one there had been a few days wherein Draco hadn't been anywhere to be found. He hadn't realized that he'd been away at the Parkinson Manor during those gaps in Draco's availability. He supposed it made sense, considering that they were technically engaged. And to think, he'd been assuming that those few days had been times when his father had gotten hold of him...

~You know what they say about making assumptions,~ Tom murmured weakly in his mind.

Harry frowned, worried. ~You should rest,~ he sent back. Tom was very fragile at this point, and Harry was almost positive that he wouldn't last through Christmas, much less the rest of the school year. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't... He forced it away. He couldn't even think about it right now.

"What could you have had to do that's even close to being more important than spending time with me, Draco?" Pansy asked, and there was a shrill note to her voice that made Harry cringe. Why did girls think it was necessary to sound like a bird of prey?

"Cleaning my shoes," Draco shot back. "Playing with Harry's monster of a cat. Getting to know my recently cleared of all charges cousin. Re-alphabetizing my books. Learning to-"

"I get the point," Pansy interrupted with a snarl. "You don't need to keep going."

"No, but now I'm curious. What were you learning to do over the summer, Draco?" Ron asked. "Personally, I hope it was learning to play chess better. I could use more of a challenge."

Draco's lips lifted into a little smile. "If I were any better, Ron, you wouldn't ever win another game again," he shot back.

Then they had to stop talking as the Sorting Hat was beginning its song once more. They gave the Sorting the attention it deserved, the headmaster's announcements the attention that they deserved, and then the food the attention that it deserved, and then it was time to head to bed for the night. Classes would begin early tomorrow, and Harry for one was quite excited. Sirius had assured him that, so long as Remus hadn't changed all that much academically speaking, his teaching would be fantastic.

Although, as he left the Great Hall, he couldn't shake the feeling that somebody was watching him, and it was really unnerving. He didn't like the way that the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. It was starting to put a damper on his enthusiasm.

ooOOooOOoo

Remus waited until he was alone in his rooms to open the letter. And even then, it waited on his bed until he enjoyed the first hot bath he'd had in months. Showers, yes, fast and cold, but never hot water. Werewolves in the colonies didn't rate anything resembling hot water, especially when they didn't have coin to pay for it.

He savored his bath and dried off, trying not to wince at how very thin he was. Merlin, he looked like a wreck, and he deliberately avoided the mirror in his rooms as much as he could. He didn't want to see himself. He couldn't stand the thought of seeing what he'd become. It was bad enough that he was a coward, that he was a monster, but to see himself wasting away... no.

He pulled on his rather threadbare night clothes and crawled under the covers into bed. It was so warm; Remus couldn't help but let out a pleased sigh. It was wonderful. He hadn't felt so warm in such a long time. And then, once the warmth had settled into his bones and eased some of the aching, he dared to reach for the letter from Sirius.

The first thing he noticed before he even opened it was that it was a little heavy to be only parchment. If he'd pranked it in some way, in some form of revenge, Remus figured that he deserved it, so he opened the letter anyway. What fell out was not a prank of any form, but instead a small bar of Honeyduke's Finest.

Remus let out a choked sob and covered his mouth with his hand, the letter falling from his other hand as he reached out to pick up the chocolate with shaking hands. It wasn't... it was... how pathetic was he, that the first nice thing to happen to him in years happened to be having a bar of chocolate sent from his ex-convict of a best friend? Remus didn't deserve this. He didn't. He was a coward. He'd run when he could have fought harder for Sirius. He deserved none of this.

With shaking hands, he lifted the letter once more. Maybe Sirius hated him. Maybe the chocolate was a friendly goodbye, or maybe it was poisoned. The options were limitless. Surely Sirius couldn't have forgiven him for not fighting for him, for not believing in him?

_Dearest Moony,_

_You haven't yet written to me, so I guess that I'm going to have to take the initiative here. How are you, old friend? I can't imagine things have been easy for you these last thirteen years. You must be in pretty bad shape. I hope you haven't been staying in one of those werewolf colonies they have in the rest of Europe. You always hated even the idea of them._

_I want to see you, very much Moony. I have so much to talk to you about, so much that I can't tell you through a letter, so much that I don't know if I can tell you. So you'll have to talk to Harry, okay? Let him decide what I can and can't tell you, and that's all I can say about that._

_I wonder if there's any Mrs. Moony in your life now? I know, I know, it's been thirteen years. If there isn't, I should be very cross with you. But at the same time, I find myself selfishly hoping that there isn't a Mrs. Moony yet, and that maybe you and I can resume where we left off once upon a time. I probably shouldn't have just blurted that out like that, but I'm not going to lie to you Moony. I love you, I never stopped loving you, and I want us to be together once more. I should probably stop writing now, because otherwise this letter's going to devolve into me reminding you of how awesome I am, and neither of us really wants me to start with that. There isn't enough parchment in the world for me to get started with that._

_I don't expect you to write back right away, but when you do, do me a favor and send the letter through Harry? At least, I hope that you're planning to write back. Like I said, I really want to see you Moony. We need to talk, but we can't do that while you're teaching. So maybe over Christmas, or over the summer, we can meet in person._

_All my love,_

_Sirius._

Remus covered his mouth with his hand once more and set the letter on his nightstand. The chocolate sitting in his lap in its lovely gold wrapper seemed to torment him. What would Sirius think when he found out what the Headmaster wanted him to do?

He cried himself to sleep that night.

ooOOooOOoo

It was a week later and Harry was now certain that he was being watched, particularly at meal times. It was the most frustrating thing ever, because he couldn't figure out who exactly was watching him. He thought maybe the source was Gryffindor table, although he really couldn't be sure. He never did manage to catch anyone looking at him. And Tom wasn't talking at all these days, which meant that he was no help at all. Draco and Ron tried to look surreptitiously, but they were just as unlucky as Harry when it came to figuring out who had been watching him.

"Are you done with your breakfast, Harry?" came a saccharine voice from his elbow.

Harry froze. "Ron, haven't we had this discussion with your sister?" he asked irritably. He'd thought that Draco had managed to frighten her off for good after the incident on the train. She'd certainly seemed mortified enough, but apparently he'd thought too soon because here she was again, just as annoying as ever. And it wasn't Ron's fault, he knew, but he was just so irritated that the obnoxious little chit couldn't take a hint...

Sure enough, he heard the delicate sound of her foot hitting the floor in a petulant stomp in a ham-fisted attempt to draw his attention. "You know, I'm right here. You don't have to ignore me," she simpered. "I know that I was a little young last year, but I'm older now, Harry, and I could learn so much from you if you'd just like to take the time to teach me about riding broomsticks," she breathed.

Harry cringed. "Really? That's what you've got? You want me to teach you to ride a broomstick?" Harry rolled his eyes and was quite glad that he'd already finished his food before she'd come over, as the very image that her words evoked made him a little bit nauseous. And that it was almost time for his very first defense class with Professor Lupin, so he could get the hell out of here before he said something he regretted. Well, that and he'd heard good things about the new Professor from the older students who had already been through his class.

"Of course, Harry, that's what I've been trying to get you to do all along," she simpered at him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Does she even realize what she sounds like when she's asking you to teach her to ride a broomstick?" he asked, and Harry bit down a snicker. Apparently he didn't need to worry about saying something he might regret; Draco was willing to do it for him. "Or is she too stupid to get the euphemism?"

"I should be offended. That's my little sister you're talking about," Ron said idly. But then he shook his head and rolled his eyes as well. "But then, she's been warned several times now. And I'm really not offended. If she's going to go around panting like a bitch in heat after boys that clearly have no interest in her, than she's going to get what she deserves."

Harry watched as Ginny drew back with a startled gasp, as though she'd been slapped. "Ron!" she shrieked, her cheeks turning red enough to match her hair.

"That's a very unflattering look on you. You might want to control that blushing response if you're going to go around asking guys to teach you to ride their broomstick," Harry offered, and then he stood. "But in case you've somehow missed it again, that guy isn't going to be me. We have class, guys, let's go."

He made sure not to look behind him as he left. He was so very done with that self-important little chit. If she wasn't careful, she'd be the next person to be fed to the basilisk. Whether Voldemort wanted him to be killing anybody this year or not.

~Harry,~ Tom began with a weary sigh, then fell silent. The chastisement, mild though it was, was more than enough for Harry to put aside his childish thoughts of revenge.

ooOOooOOoo

Ginny curled in on herself, tears running down her cheeks. Thank Merlin the Great Hall had been nearly empty for that conversation. She'd never been so humiliated in her life! And by her own brother, too! Why couldn't Ron just understand that she was the only person who would ever love Harry the way he deserved to be loved? Ron should understand how great a person she was, how good a match for Harry she would be! Instead, he was treating her like she wasn't worthy to be scraped off his shoe if she'd landed there. It was awful, and humiliating! But she couldn't give up. She just couldn't. She loved Harry, and she knew that he would feel the same if he were just given enough time.

But until then, it didn't mean that it didn't hurt when her beloved shot her down like that. She tried to stop sniffling, to stop crying, but she just couldn't. Maybe she should go see Madame Pomfrey instead of going to classes today? She had Potions and she wasn't sure she could withstand another crushing humiliation like the one she'd just suffered.

"Miss Weasley, please, don't cry," came a grandfatherly voice, and a handkerchief was pressed into her hands. "There, there, why don't you have a seat and we can talk about this?"

She blew her nose into the handkerchief and settled at the table at the gentle urging of the headmaster. "I'm sorry, sir, I just... I just love him so much, and Ron just can't see how good I would be for Harry! And that awful Malfoy boy... Ron was never so cruel before he started to hang around with him!"

"As it happens, I've noticed that myself," Dumbledore said to her, and was it just her or were his eyes twinkling a bit when she looked up at him? It didn't matter, she supposed, it must have been a trick of the light.

"I'm glad it isn't just me," she whispered, her voice small and lost. The tears had finally stopped now that she had an ear that was sympathetic to her troubles. "But I don't know what I can do to make Harry see me!" she added, and fought down the urge to wail like a little girl once more.

"It's been my opinion, and my experience," the headmaster said slowly, "that if you remove the source of the negativity, those who are genuinely good will come around on their own."

"Do you think so?" Ginny asked, desperate to seize on any hope that she could. If the Headmaster was right, if she could save both her brother and Harry by just getting them away from the Malfoy pig... but wait... "But it doesn't matter. I don't have any way to separate them from the Malfoy boy," she said sadly. They wouldn't even talk to her; why would they ever talk to her away from one third of their trio? And even if they would, at this point, why would they listen to anything she had to say? It was clear to her that they'd already made their decisions, and there was nothing she could do about that.

"I know so," the Headmaster offered, and chucked her gently on the chin. "Cheer up, Miss Weasley. I wouldn't have said anything if I hadn't had a plan in mind." His face turned into a small frown and he said, "It might hurt you just a bit, though," in a slightly worried tone.

Ginny smiled. "I can handle anything if it's going to help Ron and Harry," she said confidently.

"I'm glad to hear that, Miss Weasley." The headmaster offered her a fond smile, then, and said, "Now, why don't you run off to class? I'm sure you're not too late just yet. You can come see me in my office after dinner. We'll discuss this in more detail then. The password, my dear, is Lemon Sherbert."

Ginny nodded and hopped off of her seat, all earlier sorrow long since forgotten. The headmaster had a plan. What could possibly go wrong with that?

ooOOooOOoo

After Professor Lupin's first class with the Slytherin third years was over, Harry stayed behind. The class had been every bit as fantastic as the other students had promised, and for the first time ever Harry had truly enjoyed himself in Defense Against Dark Arts. Lupin was a hell of a teacher. But the Professor looked tired and drawn, and Harry didn't let himself forget that they were, in fact, only a night out from the full moon. Of course the werewolf wouldn't be feeling well.

"Can I help you, Mr. Potter?" the Professor asked tiredly. He was leaning against his desk, his face pale and drawn.

"I was wondering if you had anything for me to deliver to Sirius," Harry answered. "And if I may, sir, you look awful. You should probably get some rest after this. Can I help you clean up?" he added, almost as an afterthought. He was almost glad that Tom was being very quiet these days because there was no doubt in his mind that the spirit would have had a very irritable comment about helping pathetic mutts with anything at all.

"As it happens, I do have a letter for Sirius. I just didn't want to bother you while you were busy with your other classes," the Professor said quietly. "And I would very much love some help cleaning up, if you have the time. And not that it's any student's concern, but I'll probably be going to bed directly after this." This last was delivered with a stern glance in Harry's direction, though it was marred by a twinkle in the man's amber eyes.

Harry's lips quirked in a smile. Oh yeah, he could absolutely see what his godfather saw in this shabbily dressed werewolf. He started to straighten out the desks in the room and he offered, "I promised Sirius that I'd look after you," and had the joy of seeing the man startle a bit at the news.

"You... you did?" Lupin asked, his voice just a little bit choked off. "He... he asked you to look after me?"

Well, no, Sirius hadn't. But Harry was relatively sure that if his godfather could see the state of his ex-lover... did it really count as an ex-lover when they'd been separated by a prison stay? Harry wasn't sure. Anyway, if Sirius could see the state of Remus, Harry was almost positive that he'd be asked to keep an eye on him. So it wasn't really a lie, it was more of an obfuscation. "He totally did," he promised.

~Did you really just use the word totally when talking to another living being?~ Tom asked, voice low and weak.

~I'm glad to see that you've stirred yourself enough to tease me in this my hour of entirely teenager-like behavior,~ Harry shot back, a smile coming to his lips before he could fight it down. ~It's good to hear from you,~ he added, just in case Tom thought that maybe he wanted him to go away. Harry didn't want that. Tom finally sounded like he had some life to him for the first time in weeks. He'd missed the spirit so much now that he wasn't really able to talk all that much, he couldn't even... he didn't have words for it. He wanted Tom to stay and talk to him so badly, but somehow he knew that wasn't going to happen. It shouldn't happen, either, not if the expense of energy pained him, and definitely not if it was making him go faster.

Sure enough... ~I can't talk,~ Tom finally whispered, and fell ominously silent once more. Harry felt a wave of depression, of grief, of anxiety, and realized that it came from Tom. He ached for his friend, he did, but he knew there was nothing he could do. Better minds than his had looked at the problem, after all, and had come up empty.

"I can't imagine why he's forgiven me," the Professor was whispering, voice lost and a little wobbly. "I don't deserve... I don't deserve for him to even look at me, to speak to me, much less to try and look after me any longer. Not after what I did to him."

Harry sighed. "Look, Professor, can I be really blunt here?" he asked, once the desks had been straightened and the room put entirely to rights once more. He took the letter that the Professor was holding in nerveless fingers and waited for a response.

"Please, Harry, if you've something to say," the werewolf said with a weary nod.

"You're a werewolf, sir," Harry said flatly. He didn't have to be watching all that closely to see the man flinch at the words just thrown out so carelessly. "You are, sir, and Sirius loves you anyway. But let's be honest here. The rest of the wizarding world doesn't. So what were you going to do, huh? Force the issue and be outed as a werewolf? Maybe be sent to Azkaban yourself or even get yourself beheaded? How do you think Sirius would feel now, knowing that you'd gotten yourself killed trying to get him out of prison?"

"He'd be devastated," Remus whispered, and nodded. "I see your point, Harry, though I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't be so careless when discussing my... affliction."

Harry shrugged. "No problem, Professor," he said easily. That was a promise he had no trouble with keeping. He'd certainly kept worse secrets already in his young life. "Now, you should be getting to rest, and I should be sending this letter of to Sirius with Ron's lovely, reliable owl. Should I stop by the kitchens and have the elves send you something for dinner?" he added courteously.

"Thank you, but no. I doubt I'd be able to keep anything down," Remus said, and offered Harry a smile before shuffling slowly from the room.

Harry ached for the pain so clearly present in the man's every move. It couldn't be an easy thing, turning into a ravening beast every time the moon was full. He looked like he was in a lot of pain, and he really was way too thin. Harry decided that he was going to send a letter off with the Professor's own. Maybe if Sirius knew what sort of shape his lover was in, he'd do something to rectify it. Though what form that something would take, Harry honestly couldn't really imagine.

ooOOooOOoo

"So, how goes your Potions work this year, Ron?" came Blaise's unexpected voice. The other hadn't spoken much to Ron since the start of the school year two weeks ago, and Ron was genuinely surprised that he'd started to do so again. He'd thought that he'd done something to offend the other last year, and he wouldn't have been surprised considering that he'd fallen asleep with his head on Blaise's lap.

"It's going about the same as it always does," Ron said honestly. "I feel like I'm an idiot fifty times over, and then Harry or Draco will settle down next to me and suddenly the whole thing will make sense. And then I'll feel like an idiot again. But it's working, and my grades are about where they always are."

Blaise nodded solemnly. "You know," the young man said in a thoughtful tone, "you can always come to me for help if either Draco or Harry are not available. And let's be honest. With the events of this summer, I would imagine that the times that they are not available will be increasing greatly."

Ron's eyes narrowed and his back stiffened. "If I had any idea what you were talking about, which I don't, I would tell you that you might be right, and that if that were indeed the case I would be thrilled to accept your assistance with my potions work on the very rare occasions that either Harry or Draco are unavailable."

Blaise made a show of looking around the common room, then. "You know, I could be mistaken, but I don't see either of them here right at this very moment. Were you needing any help with tonight's homework?" he asked, his lips quirking into a smile.

Ron considered the matter. If he weren't missing his guess, and he strongly doubted that he was, he thought that maybe the other simply wanted to spend time with him. Of course, that made sense. Zabini was from a notoriously neutral family, refusing to take either side in the war. That meant he wouldn't have many friends in such a Dark-aligned house as Slytherin, and his refusal to stand with the Light would mean that he would have the same problem in any other house. He didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him by now that Blaise was likely lonely, hence the reason he'd helped Ron deal with his issues the year before. He wanted a friend.

Well, if there was one good thing that Ron had taken away from his parents, it was the knowledge that one could never have such a thing as too many friends. "As it happens, while I don't need help with potions, I do seem to find myself in need of a chess partner. Would you be interested?" he offered.

Zabini's lips curled into a smile. "It would be my honor to be the next Slytherin to fall on my blade before the glory of your chess skills."

Ron smiled, he couldn't help it. "Let me just go and get my chess set," he said cheerfully.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco frowned and cast an irritated, "_Tempus!_" The numbers on the little clock that appeared read only four o'clock in the morning. This had been going on for a little over six hours now.

"If somebody doesn't shut Potter up, I'm going to murder him in his sleep," Nott groaned, pulling his cover over his head.

"Look, if you've got a problem with it, why don't you do what Ron and I asked you to do three hours ago and go and get Professor Snape?" Draco bit out. His friend had been having a nightmare for the past six hours, and he'd been unable to wake him. Unable to get him to respond to anything at all, as it happened. There was no way that this was anything resembling a normal nightmare.

"Look, I just want to get some sleep. If I need to smother Potter to do it, I'm game for that. But I'm not going to go all the way out of this room to go and get the Professor because Potter's having some freaky ass nightmare. That isn't my job," Nott snarled.

"Then shut the hell up about it," Ron snarled back. He was on Harry's bed with him, his friend's head resting in his lap. "Draco, maybe you or I should go," he added. He'd been saying that for the past three hours. But it was painfully clear that he didn't want to leave his friend in such a vulnerable state without at least two of them to defend him.

Draco couldn't blame him, not really. That was why he hadn't gone off to fetch the Professor. He couldn't imagine leaving Harry here with only Ron to protect him. Not that he didn't trust Ron, because of course he did, but he knew that the other couldn't watch both his back and his front at the same time. And Nott had started firing curses at Harry only two hours into this mess. At least, he had until Draco had hexed him rather painfully. Draco had no doubt that if he left the dorm room would quickly turn into some sort of war.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Zabini snarled suddenly, and stalked over to Nott's bed. Draco saw him draw his wand, saw him move it in a complicated pattern while reciting a set of words that Draco couldn't have repeated had his life depended on it, and watched as Nott shot him a grateful smile and then closed his eyes, an expression of peace settling across his face. "Silencing spell you bloody idiots. Now if you'll excuse me, I, too, need some sleep for classes tomorrow."

With that, Zabini's curtains slammed closed. And then, as Ron and Draco tried to figure out just what they were going to do and which of them was going to go for the Professor, and Draco was determined that wasn't going to be him, Harry's cries tapered off and then stopped altogether.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked Harry urgently. Draco rolled his eyes. They didn't even know if Harry was still asleep or if the nightmare had stopped because Harry had woken up on his own. Because they sure as hell hadn't been able to wake him when they'd tried, and they'd tried everything short of dumping water on his head.

Harry's eyes fluttered open, then, and he stared at Draco through broken green eyes. His lips began to move, but no sound came out.

"Harry?" Draco asked eagerly, and damned himself and his concern for the other by settling on Harry's bed next to him. He'd been doing so well pretending to be distant, too.

"I can feel all of Tom's emotions," Harry whispered after several heart-stopping moments of anxiety. "I can feel everything. His fear, his sorrow, his rage, his impotence. I can feel it all, and I can barely hear him. Oh, Merlin, what am I going to do?" he asked, and then he started to cry.

Draco closed his eyes. They were definitely out of their element there. Ron looked like he was about to bolt he was so upset, and Draco didn't know what to do for his friend. "Go and get Professor Snape?" he offered to Ron, and Ron nodded hastily this time and took him up on the escape route.

Draco took his place with Harry, and curled his arms around his shaking friend. He hoped that the Professor could figure this out, and he hoped that Harry was prepared for the eventuality that this might just be it. They might be losing Tom.

* * *

**A/N: And, another chapter! It's even sort of on time! Hurray! Let me know how you liked it!**


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Severus had been sleeping when the knock on his door had come in the middle of the night. He groaned and wondered if he closed his eyes and ignored it, would the source of the knocking go away? Probably not. Why had he ever thought that teaching a group of impertinent children would be a wise career move? Had he perhaps been high on potions fumes when he'd agreed to that position? Surely that was the only possible explanation available to him.

"Somebody," he intoned darkly as he slammed his own door open, "had better be dead in their beds for you to wake me at this hour, Mr. Weasley."

The redhead had an expression of utter panic on his face, but the expression had clearly been there since before Severus opened the door. "Sir, it's Harry," the redhead said quickly. "He's... something's really wrong. With... you know. We think."

"With.. you know, we think," Severus repeated, allowing his disdain for the boy to drip into his words. "Such eloquence, Mr. Weasley. It's amazing to think that-" And then he fell silent as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Oh, Merlin," he breathed, as he realized just what it was that Mr. Weasley had been trying to say without saying directly. "Take me to him at once," Severus commanded, not even stopping to think that he wasn't wearing proper robes.

If the Weasley boy was right, if the child had indeed already merged with Tom, there was no telling what sort of scene he might walk in on. A thirteen year old boy merging with a psychotic Dark Lord did not bode well for anybody around him when it happened. Thirteen year olds weren't exactly well-known for their sense of self-control.

"Of course, Professor," the boy whispered, and thank Merlin he showed some sense to come and get him. Severus just hoped that there was nothing that had gone wrong that couldn't be fixed.

ooOOooOOoo

It was too much for Harry. He could feel rage, hot and boiling and bright and he couldn't shut it out. He could feel sorrow, deep and broken and painful in a way that he'd never felt anything in his life. He could feel Tom's need to do better, to be better, to do something more that he was never going to get a chance to do and Harry couldn't hold in.

He let out a desperate shriek and clenched his fists around Harry's pillow and squeezed until his fingers punctured it. He heard a voice, soft and hesitant and somewhat familiar, and he let out an irritated hiss and drew his wand, focusing on Malfoy.

"Silence, child," he snarled. "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Harry, I don't think that you're yourself," Malfoy said hesitantly, holding his hands up in a gesture of innocence.

Something in Harry snapped back into place and he clutched at his head, his wand falling uselessly from his fingers. Tom was... fading. Quickly. But his emotions were his own once more. "I don't... I'm sorry," he gasped out.

~Sorry, so sorry,~ he heard Tom whispering, over and over and Harry let himself relax just a bit because if he could still hear Tom then Tom wasn't quite gone yet. He still had time with him.

"Don't go away," he pled. "I can't do this alone!" It hadn't hit him... it hadn't sunk in... Tom was dying.

Tom was dying.

~Harry,~ Tom said quietly, tiredly, his voice low and soft and fragile, ~If there were any way in the world that I could stay, I would.~

Harry closed his eyes. "You have to stay," he whispered, and why was his face wet? Why was everything so blurry when he opened his eyes? Was he... oh. He was crying.

The door flew open, then, and Harry turned to look, only to be hit by a flash of red light. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus lifted the boy gently into his arms. "Did he hurt you?" he asked a pale and shaken Draco.

"No sir," Draco said quickly. "But he... there was a minute when I was frightened," and if his voice shook a bit, Severus was kind enough not to comment.

"Do keep in mind that our Lord is not the most sane of people at his worst, and at this moment, merging with Harry, he is most assuredly at his worst. Should something of this nature happen again, you should stun first and ask questions later," Severus murmured.

"Yes sir," Draco said, and nodded. "Will he... will he be okay?"

"He'll be fine." Severus shook his head and said, "I'm taking him to see our Lord, to see if there's anything we can do to slow the progress. I don't know that any of us realized that the merge was coming up so quickly."

The earliest predictions that the Malfoy psychopath had given had said that the merge should occur sometime within Harry's fourth or fifth year. To have it happening so early was a disaster. Harry was already somewhat unstable, given that his own mind was still developing, teenagers were hardly what anyone would consider rational, after all; he couldn't possibly be expected to deal well with the introduction of another incredibly unstable consciousness to go with his own.

"What will you tell the Headmaster?" Draco asked, sounding reluctant to remind Severus of the problem.

Severus closed his eyes and swore softly. He hadn't even considered... "Harry was sick, all night. I'm sure that your dorm mates and you can attest to that. When he woke up in the morning he was feeling better, but was also exhausted. I gave him the day off from his classes," he said finally, "And I'm staying with him to monitor him. The Headmaster will understand."

"Yes, sir," both Ron and Draco chorused, both with grim expressions on their young faces. He regretted greatly that it was necessary to bring children into the middle of this mess, but he didn't see a way around it. The two of them would just have to cover for Harry, and for himself.

Severus swept from the room, the Potter brat cradled in his arms. He only hoped that there was something that could be done. There was no telling how this would affect the child, otherwise. One thing was certain: If the progress couldn't be slowed, there was a very good chance that Harry wouldn't be able to attend Hogwarts again.

ooOOooOOoo

"Black, wake up!"

Sirius groaned and rolled over in his bed, pulling his pillow over his head. He didn't know what time it was, but it was still dark outside. That meant that it was too bloody early. And Snivellus was the one trying to wake him. That wasn't an acceptable thing. Why would he ever get up because Snivellus told him to? That just seemed like a bad idea all around. And besides, wasn't Snape with...

"What's wrong with Harry?" he asked, flashing to alertness immediately. He didn't move, though, because he could still be wrong. The possibility certainly existed.

"The merge appears to be happening right now," Snape answered, voice dark and grim with unhappy implications.

Sirius frowned. "I thought that wasn't going to happen until later," Sirius finally muttered. He shoved the pillow off of his head and sat up, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. It was too damn early for this.

"We thought that it wouldn't. Unfortunately, these sorts of things don't tend to follow the timeline we create for them." Severus was standing in the door to his bedroom, one eyebrow quirked. "So are you going to get dressed and come see him, or are you simply going to stay in bed and wait for news?"

Sirius flipped Snape off and got out of bed, not bothering to hide his nudity. He heard Severus make a noise of complaint and smirked when the man turned around, cursing at him under his breath. "It isn't like it isn't anything you haven't seen before, Snape," Sirius taunted, even as he pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants. It was great to watch Lucius Malfoy's face when he spotted a member of his household wearing such Muggle attire, even if the dragon on the shirt did move like a wizarding photograph.

"Not on you!" Snape bit out. "Are you decent?"

"Never," Sirius answered, unable to resist the joke even at so grim a time as this. "But I am ready to go see my godson."

"He's with the Mind-Healers right now, so don't disturb them when you get there," Snape cautioned.

Unfortunately, Snape turned out to be right. When Sirius arrived in the room, Harry's eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and even. He was laying, still and serene, on a bed in the center of the room. There were two people, the aforementioned Mind-Healers, seated on either side of him, each holding onto one hand. One had hair like a Malfoy, the other an entirely unremarkable face. If it weren't for the fact that Collin met with him regularly, Sirius was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a crowd. And Lethfyren was just frightening. Sirius also wouldn't exactly call him a Mind-Healer. Maybe a Mind-Breaker? The term seemed to fit.

There was nothing he could do for his godson. Harry was on his own. Sirius let out a shaky sigh and asked, "Do you think it would be okay if I sat on the bed with him?"

"Please don't do anything that might disrupt the Mind-Healers, Black," Voldemort sneered in response. He was settled on one of two chairs next to the bed, watching the proceedings with a sharp red gaze.

Sirius started. He hadn't realized that the Dark Lord himself was there, and he fought down the somewhat instinctive response of drawing his wand. This was the first time that he'd come face to face with the man, after all. Oh, he'd known that Voldemort was there, objectively, but it hadn't quite sunk in that if Voldemort was there, then Sirius ran the risk of running into him. Perhaps he should be hurrying the repairs on Grimmauld Place...

"What kind of man do you take me for?" Sirius asked sharply, in lieu of drawing his wand. "I would never hurt my godson, not on purpose. If you say it isn't safe for me to sit on the bed, then I won't risk it."

Voldemort's lip curled into a snarl. "I understand that you do not support my cause, Black, but that does not give you leave to speak to me however you will," he said coldly. "You will address me with care or I will see to it that you address no one at all."

Sirius winced. "Sorry," he muttered. He made sure that he did so with the proper amount of penitence in his voice, however. He wasn't ever going to like the man, but he could surely respect the fact that Voldemort probably knew more ways to kill him with one finger than Sirius did with his whole body. And Sirius had just decided to be a positive influence in his godson's life; he couldn't do that if he was dead.

"See to it that it doesn't happen again," Voldemort answered. "Severus, join me?" He gestured to the seat next to him and added, "I cannot imagine that Lord Black would be nearly so inclined to sit next to me for the duration of his godson's treatment."

Sirius snorted. "I'm good here, thanks," and leaned against the doorway to prove his point. Of course he wanted to be next to Harry, to support him through this, but the monster sitting at his godson's side was right: Sirius would rather die than sit next to him. And it looked like Harry was pretty much dead to the world right now, anyway. He wouldn't know if Sirius was there or not.

Snape rolled his eyes, but went to sit by the Dark Lord. As Sirius watched, a little grossed out, Snape allowed his hand to be taken by Voldemort and his fingers to be caressed. Eww. Sirius bit down a snarky comment and focussed on his godson instead. Was it just him, or was Harry's brow wrinkling? It looked like whatever it was that was happening now, Harry was in pain.

Merlin, he hoped that whatever it was would pass quickly. He didn't want to think of his godson suffering.

ooOOooOOoo

Tom was lost.

Tom was wandering in a formless sea of black, his body light and free and weightless. There was no pain, there was no anger, there was no hatred. He was no longer dying, he was no longer... he was no longer... he was no longer.

And it was wonderful.

He felt something small, something niggling, something demanding his attention, but it was so easy to just close his eyes and ignore it. At least, until that niggling something turned into catastrophic, insane rage. Then he couldn't ignore it anymore.

He opened his eyes and found his wand pointed at a Malfoy. The threat emerged before he could stop it, then his mind sluggishly caught up. This made no sense. At a Malfoy? What was a Malfoy doing in his... why was a Malfoy so young? He was too young. He couldn't be Lucius, so who was he? What was...

And then it flooded back to him, and he retreated, muttering sweet and gentle nothings to Harry until the child settled down. Which didn't actually happen until Severus stunned him. At least, he hoped it was Severus who did the stunning, and not an attack from Dumbledore. He wasn't exactly equipped to handle it if it was an attack, after all. He wasn't exactly equipped to do much of anything. He was losing himself. It wouldn't be long now.

He could see Harry's mind, now, and cringed. The delicate architecture of the child's mind was crumbling slowly into dust, the flowers in the fields of his mind shrivelling and dying, the replica of Hogwarts wherein he'd made his own home a crumbled ruin. Harry had never seen his mindscape like this, Harry wouldn't have known what was wrong, but Tom did. And Tom was sickened. He was doing this. There was nothing he could do about it, not really.

He retreated ever further into Harry's mind, wondering what the hell he was going to do with himself. He had known it was coming, he had felt himself growing weaker and weaker, but he hadn't realized... Harry wasn't going to be able to deal with him. He'd hoped that Harry had learned enough of controlling his emotions to be able to handle the anger that Tom felt so often, but he from what he'd just seen he didn't believe that to be the case. Maybe if he could bury himself far enough into the back of Harry's mind, maybe if he could just make himself go back to sleep until such time as Harry was ready...

"Would you quit hiding?" he heard a venomous voice snarl, and Tom froze. "Seriously, do you have any idea how hard it is to find you right now?" He knew that voice. Malfoy, as in Lethfyren. The Mind-Breaker.

"Please, would you settle down? You'll make it even harder to find him if he's hiding because you've frightened him. I've no doubt that he's in a vulnerable state right now," another voice, far gentler and kinder, murmured. That would be Rosiver, then.

"I'm neither frightened nor vulnerable," Tom bit out. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew without a doubt that they were looking for him. For what purpose, he was entirely unsure. Perhaps things were dire enough that they were going to attempt the extraction anyway, despite its risks.

As though his words had summoned them, the two of them appeared in the blank space of Harry's torn mindscape. Fragile and fair and deadly Lethfyren coupled with ordinary and plain and brown Collin. Tom's lips curled into a snarl. "Can I help you two?" he asked sarcastically.

"It's more a matter of how can we help you," Collin answered mildly. He looked around the dessicated ruins of Harry's mind and added, "Do you feel as though Harry is ready for this?"

Tom shook his head. "He isn't," he answered. "When we... we combined, I could feel... he couldn't control us. Me. However you want to phrase it. If we merge now, he won't... I don't think his mind will survive."

Collin nodded. "For what it's worth, I agree. Merging now would only serve to kill the child, for Voldemort will not tolerate a madman serving under him for long. Not when the madman in question has no use to him as a madman."

Tom closed his eyes and cringed as a flash of pain tore through him. His knees gave out from under him and he felt himself beginning to fade away. "I get that," he said through gritted teeth. "Do you think that there's anything you can do to slow the progress?"

Collin hummed thoughtfully. "There might be," he answered, "But you'll lose any freedom to take control of Harry if I do it."

Lethfyren sneered. "Why are you even bothering to talk about this? Every second you waste is another that he comes closer to merging completely. And as much as I might enjoy watching the brat's mindscape collapse entirely, I know that you won't."

"Because for this to work, I really do need Tom to cooperate," Collin said apologetically. "I can seal you off in here. You would be able to talk to Harry still, I think, but you wouldn't be able to assume control of his body any longer. He won't be able to come see you, and the first time he feels an emotion strong enough, you'll merge. If you try to take control of him, you'll merge as well."

Tom closed his eyes. "That's the best you've got?" he asked bitterly.

"Well, I might have more if somebody had seen fit to warn us that the barriers between you were so close to collapsing," Collin answered. "I would have had more time to think on your problem."

The rebuke, mild though it was, made Tom flinch. He should have spoken up. He should have said something while Malfoy had been rooting through his mind during the holidays last year. And he hadn't. This was his fault. He'd done this to Harry through his refusal to acknowledge or even really think about what was coming. He was the adult; he should have known better.

"I'm sorry," Tom said roughly. "You're right, of course. I'll take any help you can give to him."

Collin nodded. "Then, please, let's head back into your study. You'll be stuck there once I'm finished. I plan on sealing the room so tightly that nothing can get through, but it will still be quite a fragile seal. I am... optimistic that we can make it strong enough to hold until Harry is at least fifteen, barring any catastrophic events."

Tom nodded and wearily began trudging back towards the crumbling ruin that was Hogwarts, and hoped with everything in him that Collin was right.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry woke up, it didn't take him long to realize that he was back in his bedroom at Malfoy Manor. His hand was quite warm, and he realized that was from his godfather clutching at it. Sirius was asleep, his eyes dark with shadows, hunched in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position in the chair next to the bed. His neck and back were, doubtlessly, not going to thank him for that. Harry himself was quite exhausted, and had to fight going back to sleep right away. He felt as though he'd just played twenty games of Quidditch in a row, followed by a Potions class or ten.

But most importantly of all, he couldn't feel Tom's emotions any longer. ~Tom?~ he called, a little panicked. Surely he would notice it if Tom were gone, right? He'd felt so angry before everything had gone black, and...

~Still here,~ Tom answered, and Harry breathed out a small sigh of relief. He even sounded stronger than he had, almost as though he wasn't fading any longer.

~What's the catch?~ Harry asked warily, delighted but still concerned. In his experience, good things like this didn't come without some form of cost. He just wasn't sure what that cost might be.

~I can't take control of you any longer. You can't visit me any more. And you must avoid extreme flashes of emotion at all cost.~ The three conditions, while painful, weren't quite as bad as Harry thought. ~And I'm locked in my study in your mindscape.~

~That must be boring,~ Harry sent back. ~I'm so glad that you're still with me,~ he added in a tiny voice. ~I was so afraid...~

~I know,~ Tom murmured, and it was odd for his voice now to not be accompanied by a flash of emotion. It almost felt like it had back in the old days, before Hogwarts, when Tom had first woken within him. Harry didn't like it, but he supposed that it was better than being alone.

"Harry, are you awake," Sirius asked urgently, and Harry forced himself to focus on the outside world once more.

"Yeah, I'm awake," he answered. "Sorry if I worried you," he added shyly.

His godfather gathered him into an embrace. "You don't have anything to apologize for," Sirius answered. "This wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault, I guess. It's just... I don't think any of us realized how close you two were to merging. We all thought it was a long way off."

"Tom and I were hoping that it was a long way off," Harry offered apologetically. "I guess that neither of us wanted to think about it."

Sirius let out a small hum and said, "I can understand that." He squeezed Harry tightly for a moment, then shifted so that he was holding Harry by the shoulders at arm's length. "But you need to make me a promise. I need you to swear to me that if you feel anything from Tom you'll tell us immediately. Go through Snape and get back here however you have to. Can you do that for me?"

Harry smiled and leaned against his godfather. "I think that's a promise I can make," he said, and then yawned. "Why am I so tired? Haven't I been sleeping for a while?"

Sirius chuckled. "You were, but your mind was pretty active while you were out." Sirius checked the time and then said, "It looks like you have a few hours until Snape wants to take you back to Hogwarts. Why don't you get some more rest, and then you'll be ready to head back over with him?"

Harry, once he had permission, fell rapidly back to sleep. He didn't even feel his godfather tucking him in, he was out so quickly.

ooOOooOOoo

Potter hadn't been at breakfast, or at lunch, and the other two members of the Silver Trio had looked more than a little glum.

This was... interesting. What could have happened to him? He didn't generally skip meals. The first year, when he'd skipped meals, he'd turned out to be in the hospital wing along with his good friend Malfoy. The second year, when he'd missed a meal, Lockhart had died shortly thereafter.

The watcher was not an idiot. The watcher knew how very significant it was that Potter had missed a meal just before Lockhart had died. But the watcher didn't particularly care. The man had been a fool and a fraud, and Potter had done the world a favor by ridding it of him. The man had been little more than garbage, filling the minds of the students with rot. And now they had a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. For once, the watcher actually felt as though something useful was actually being taught to the class.

But the watcher was spared further wondering when the Potter boy reappeared for dinner. He was pale and there were shadows under his eyes, which meant that he'd probably been sick. So... nothing interesting, then. The watcher wasn't entirely certain that was to be believed, but until other evidence was presented, the watcher supposed that was what would have to be gone with.

Still, the watcher wondered. Potter had never been sick before, other than that incident in their first year. The watcher had heard a bit about it through listening at keyholes that the watcher wasn't necessarily supposed to be listening through. It had been something to do with Voldemort, from what the watcher understood. The watcher found it suspicious that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would do anything to even inadvertently aid a creature like Voldemort.

The watcher had wondered if maybe Harry Potter had never survived the Halloween incident that had won him his fame. Perhaps Voldemort had controlled the child the entire time. The theory, as quickly as it came to the watcher as Harry spoke to his friends after his mysterious illness, was quickly discarded. That was nonsense. Surely somebody would have noticed sooner had that been the case?

But still... just in case something significant had happened perhaps it was time for the watcher to start paying a little bit more attention. It certainly couldn't hurt anything.

Just so long as classwork didn't get any more difficult, that was to say. And the watcher strongly doubted the likelihood of such a thing coming to pass.

ooOOooOOoo

"Are you feeling better now?" Draco asked eagerly, if softly, the moment that Harry settled into his seat next to him and across from Ron. "We were so worried about you."

The sentiment was clearly echoed by Ron, so Harry managed to summon up a weak smile for the two of them. "I'm better," he answered. "There's a chance that I might have another attack, but the Professor is optimistic." He tried not to wince as he said it. Professor Snape and optimism should never be mentioned within the same context again. The two concepts didn't mix well at all.

"At least you didn't miss much today. We went over some stuff in Ancient Runes, but other than that it was a pretty slow day. Especially with Snape out taking care of you. The Headmaster just cancelled the class," Ron offered. It was clear that he wanted to say something more, but all three of them knew that this wasn't exactly the most appropriate venue for this conversation.

Harry smiled and took a small portion of food. He wasn't hungry at all, but Tom was chiding him to eat in his head. He wanted to feel Tom's concern once more, but he understood why that couldn't happen. He just didn't like it.

"Potter." Nott's flat voice made Harry look up curiously. The other third year was standing behind Ron, arms crossed, a black glare on his face. "Let me be clear. If you ever do anything like you did last night, I'll make sure myself that it doesn't happen again."

Harry's lips quirked into a smirk. "And what makes you think that you could do anything to threaten me?" he asked, and narrowed his eyes in just such a way that Nott flinched. "Get out of here before I decide you aren't amusing anymore." He dismissed the other with an airy wave.

Nott's face purpled with rage. "You wanna rethink that, Potter?" he snarled.

Before things could progress, Seneca, their seventh year female prefect, was there with a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. "I sincerely believe that the two of you aren't fighting out here where the whole school could see," the girl said, "because I know that there aren't any Slytherins stupid enough to do that, are there?"

"No, ma'am," Nott gulped out, before turning and scurrying from the hall.

Harry bit down his laughter and instead said, "I apologize for escalating things," to the prefect.

She sniffed, but left the three of them alone, apparently mollified by Harry's apology.

The rest of their dinner passed quietly, although Harry couldn't quite brush off the feeling that somebody was watching him. He looked up and around casually, but nothing stood out to him. Finally, he was forced to dismiss it as perhaps the Headmaster keeping an eye on him.

He just hoped that the Headmaster got tired of watching him soon, because that was the second time Harry had noticed it, and it was going to get very old, very quickly.

ooOOooOOoo

Albus called Severus to his office after dinner. The Potions Master, when he'd reappeared for dinner with the Potter boy in tow, had looked exhausted. His entire frame had practically bent with weariness, and Albus needed to know what had happened to cause such a thing in the normally stoic man. The illness Harry had suffered certainly seemed to have been severe, and yet, Poppy hadn't been called in.

"I understand that Harry was sick overnight?" Albus asked as he poured Severus tea. He handed the cup over after preparing it exactly as Severus preferred, not even needing to ask after all the years that they'd worked together.

"Quite ill, but entirely unwilling to go to Poppy," Severus answered. His hand shook with exhaustion as he accepted the cup. "I suppose I should have forced the matter, but it truly wasn't anything that I couldn't handle. And I didn't want to give him any cause to resent me. I know you worry over him, and it's easier to keep an eye on him when I have his trust."

Albus considered that answer. It was... perfect, actually. A little too perfect, too rehearsed. Aloud, all he said was, "I'm certain you know best," and smiled blandly at Severus over his tea. "I'm glad that it wasn't anything too serious, then," he added.

Severus finished his tea and said quietly, "If you don't mind, Albus, I'm quite exhausted. I've been up all night and day with Potter, and I'd like to seek my bed."

"Of course, my dear child," Albus answered, and favored Severus with his typical smile. As the man exited, however, Albus' smile faded into a considering frown.

For the first time he was beginning to wonder if maybe he couldn't trust Severus as much as he'd thought he could. There had been reports of a Death Eater matching Severus' build during the strike at Azkaban who had taken down the main contingent of Auror guards. The Death Eaters had missed only one, a rookie who had been so terrified at the sight of the Death Eater ships that he'd hidden and managed to escape the slaughter.

The idea that Severus had participated in the strike was not such a strange one. Of course Severus could simply be continuing his role as a spy for the Order. But Severus had reported nothing to him of resuming his old tasks. And the rookie Auror's reports had stated that the Death Eater in question had been special to the Dark Lord if one judged by his mask, and by the apparent bodyguard he'd had.

So now he had to wonder: Could he really still trust Severus? He was beginning to think that maybe he shouldn't. Perhaps it was time to put his plan into works, then, and clear up at least part of the mess.

Perhaps with the younger Malfoy out of the picture he might begin to decipher some of the true loyalties of those he surrounded himself with. He hoped, at least.

* * *

**A/N: Those who guess the identity of Harry's watcher will be given Internet Cookies! Sorry this update is a little late, by the way. I was out of town for a school conference. Which was way more fun than academics have any right to be. Until next time!**


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Nine

With Tom somewhat contained within his mind, Harry fell into an uneasy state of waiting. He could hear Tom, more than he'd been able to hear him in months, but he couldn't feel him. Tom couldn't take control of him to show him any more spells, ridiculous or otherwise. And Harry couldn't visit Tom inside his mind any longer. When he'd first heard of the restrictions, Harry had assumed that he would be fine. Tom was alive, right? What else could possibly matter?

Now, a month into his new restrictions, Harry was finding them to be far more difficult than he'd thought he would. He missed being able to feel Tom's affection, being able to retreat into his own mind in the middle of History and play chess with Tom. He always, always lost, but he had been improving. Well, Tom hadn't thought he was, but what did he know? He'd gotten killed by a baby. These restrictions were going to drive him mad.

But there were a few things to distract him. For one, there was the ridiculously frustrating sensation of being watched that he was still getting at somewhat random intervals. Mostly the sensation came while he was in the Great Hall, which meant that he probably didn't share classes with whoever it was. Maybe it was another annoying fan like Ginny? Whoever it was, Harry was starting to be more than a little annoyed with them. When they came forward, he was probably going to break Collin's rule about strong emotions.

And then there were the mutts. It was probably mean of Harry to call them that, but really, they were acting just like lovesick puppies. Sirius and Remus had used him to exchange several letters thus far, and Harry really hoped that the two of them would just get in bed together already. Seriously. But Professor Lupin, or Moony as Harry was allowed to call him outside of class, apparently felt terribly guilty over a few different things, and wasn't actually willing to see Sirius yet. Harry was getting ready to send a letter to his godfather telling him to just jump the man in his bedroom after he transformed, or something ridiculous like that. Because he was tired of passing notes along like he was sitting between two star-crossed lovers in a Muggle high school.

There was also the matter of Ron's suitor. According to the tradition of Courtship that Sirius had explained to him over the summer, Ron would be due another gift tonight at some point. Other suitors could, theoretically, send along gifts on any of the major holidays as well, giving Ron a choice between potential suitors. The whole traditional Courtship business seemed insanely complicated to Harry, and he was glad that he wasn't planning on bothering with any of it. And if anybody actually wanted a shot with him, they'd damn well better not try and make him deal with the other side of things. He didn't want to be Courted.

And finally, most frustrating of all, there was the matter of Draco himself. Harry's first friend, other than Tom of course, had been pulling his disappearing acts again. Harry had thought, or had hoped, that after his friend had stood up to his father during the summer maybe he wouldn't let whoever it was at the school torture him any longer. But apparently that wasn't the case. Draco disappeared at least once a week, sometimes more, and his hands always shook for at least a day after that. Harry was appalled that nobody seemed to notice except for him and Ron, and Harry longed to at least speak with Professor Snape about the matter. But Tom had cautioned him, yet again, to avoid forcing Draco into doing anything too soon, not if he wanted to keep the other's friendship. Harry could see the wisdom in that, but he was getting tired of waiting.

He was starting to think that maybe losing Draco's friendship would be worth it if it would just mean that Draco was safe from his father and from whoever his father's lackey was here at the school.

"You okay?" Draco asked as they walked to the cafeteria from their Ancient Runes class, breaking Harry from his train of thought. "You've been a little... shaky these past few weeks."

Harry fought down an incredibly snarky comment. Who was Draco to call him shaky, anyway? Had he taken a look at his own handwriting last Wednesday? Instead, he offered, "It's just difficult, adjusting to everything." He offered Draco a smile, weak and somewhat tempered by his own irritation with the other's lack of care towards his own health.

Draco didn't pick up on the irritation and instead let out a soft hum of agreement, and the two walked in silence for several moments. They were finished with their classes for the day, and on their way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast.

Harry, for once, really wasn't looking forward to the feast. He just wasn't feeling all that festive these days, and there wasn't anything that would change that. Not right now. Not with Tom so close to fading away forever and Draco still being tortured.

Draco stopped, suddenly, and turned to Harry. "You know, you don't need to act like it's already all over," he said quietly, a frown on his face.

"I don't..." Harry stopped, then, and dropped his head. Maybe Draco didn't have any room to be lecturing him about poor behavior, considering that he went off once a week to be tortured at the word of a madman, but he did have a point. Harry was acting like it was over already. Like the end had already come. And maybe it hadn't. Maybe there was still something that could be done...

~I don't think there is, Harry,~ Tom said gently. ~I think that your friend is trying to tell you that you don't need to start mourning me before I'm gone.~

Harry shook his head. ~How can I not mourn you?~ he asked plaintively. ~You're... you've been here for so long! I don't know what I'll do without you!~

~I'm not gone yet,~ Tom said soothingly. ~So stop acting like I am, and go back to being the kid that you once swore you'd enjoy being at Hogwarts.~

Harry snorted. ~I'm not a child, not any longer. I think that we've both seen to that.~ Aloud, to Draco, he said, "I don't mean to withdraw like this. I'll try to do better." He offered his best friend a hesitant smile and tried not to think about how awkward it felt on his face.

Draco's eyes closed and a tension released in the blond that Harry hadn't even realized was there. When Draco opened his pretty grey eyes, they were softened into a smile. "See that you do," he said teasingly.

Harry felt an unfamiliar little flutter at the expression and ducked his head to break Draco's gaze. "Right. I'll do that," he said awkwardly, and started walking once more. He was treated to the sound of Tom laughing in his head, and though he wasn't entirely certain what the Dark Lord was laughing about, he was grateful to hear it. It felt like it had been forever since the last time he'd heard Tom laugh.

And Draco was laughing too, softly and cheerfully, and the sound brought that irritating little flutter back. Harry scowled and wondered why it was that he felt like he was blushing, and then pushed both the irritation and the faint embarrassment away. They were going to the Halloween feast. They were going to have a fantastic time.

And for once, thank Merlin, it didn't seem like anything interesting was going to happen on Halloween. Which was fantastic, because Harry was pretty sure that he was done with 'interesting' for a while. At least until maybe he was in his fifth year.

ooOOooOOoo

The feast was typical of Hogwarts feasts, and Harry enjoyed himself immensely despite his earlier reluctance. He and Ron and Draco stuffed themselves full of good food, candy, and had far too much fun as they pointed out the carved pumpkins with the creepiest faces. The feast was almost over when Harry felt his mysterious watcher, well, watching him once more. He scowled down into his goblet of pumpkin juice, all merriment vanishing. This was getting really old.

"You okay?" Draco asked, and laid a hand on Harry's arm.

"I'm being watched again," Harry answered quietly. He drained the last of his juice in one gulp and stood. "What say we head back to the dorm? Maybe Ron's got something waiting for him," he said, in a lighter, more teasing tone.

Ron flushed as red as his hair. "I'm not... Maybe I don't!" he protested. "Maybe whoever my suitor is gave up!"

"Wait, somebody's actually Courting you, Weasel?" Pansy sneered from where she was seated near them. She had been subtly edging closer to Draco all night, and had seemed to grow more and more irritable as Draco continued to ignore her. "Who would want a blood traitor like you?"

"At least one person does," Draco answered haughtily on Ron's behalf. "Maybe more. Thirteen is still a little young for a formal Courtship to begin, after all. And at least Ron has suitors, unlike you."

Pansy snorted indelicately. "Please, Draco, I don't need suitors. I have you. All purebloods worth knowing have their marriages arranged for them by their parents. That Weasel relies on a suitor only goes to show his lack of good breeding."

"Did you not consider me to be a pureblood worth knowing, then, Parkinson?" Blaise asked coolly. He had been engaged with Nott in a conversation, and both had stopped their own to pay attention to what Pansy was saying. Blaise looked entirely unamused, while Nott looked like he was anticipating the verbal spat that was coming.

"I didn't mean to imply that, Zabini." Pansy, obviously realizing her error, blanched and fell silent after her hasty backtrack. She picked up her fork and poked at her cake which she studied quite intently.

"You should show more care with your words," Blaise said, and nodded at Ron, Harry, and Draco before resuming his conversation. Nott looked somewhat disappointed that it hadn't come to more than that, but allowed himself to be distracted.

Harry watched in amusement as Ron thumped his forehead against the table. "Everything all right, there?" Harry asked, distracted entirely from the person watching him. He enjoyed revelling in his friend's misery. He supposed that made him a bit of a sadist. Fortunately, he had a spirit inside of him that he could blame that sadism on.

~Not any longer,~ Tom said cheerfully. ~You can't feel my feelings anymore. Although I don't think there was ever any doubt that I revelled in the discomfort of my slaves... I mean minions... I mean followers.~

"Everything's great," Ron said dully. "Can we just head up to the room before somebody else says something about my Courtship? Or about my status as a blood traitor? We were having such a good time."

"Oh, we can still have a good time, Ron, it'll just be at your expense as you open your Courtship gift," Draco answered, and Harry laughed aloud.

This Halloween was fantastic.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron really wanted both Harry and Draco to go away, but he was realistic enough to know that wasn't going to happen. They were both hovering as they made their way up to the dorm room, both eager to see what his Suitor had gotten for him with this next coming gift. He, and Ron was still assuming that his Suitor was a man, had set the bar high with the locket, followed by Xochi, and Ron wondered what could be next. He just wished that he could tell both Harry and Draco to buzz off while he figured it out.

When he went up to his room, there were actually two packages on his bed and Ron frowned. The first was large and elongated and wrapped in tasteful silver paper while the second much smaller and more understated, but wrapped in garish red and gold wrapping.

"I knew that would happen," Draco said smugly as he settled onto his bed.

Ron shot him a dirty look. "Knew what would happen?" he asked, as he studied the two packages. The first, the bigger one, had a note attached so he opened the note as he waited for Draco's answer.

"Knew that you'd pick up at least one other Suitor," Harry supplied from where he'd settled on Ron's bed with the packages.

"Really?" Ron asked, distractedly, as he read through the note from the Suitor he knew.

_My Dearest Ron,_

_You seem to enjoy flying so very much, and yet I cannot help but notice that your broom is not quite fast enough to keep up with your movements at times. I feel some concern that your performance on the team may suffer through no fault of your own. And so, I hope that you will accept this gift, and use it to the best of your abilities. I look forward to seeing you fly, and fly well, on it._

_Yours truly, with great affection._

With trembling fingers, Ron opened the first gift. As indicated, the gift in question was a broom, and what a broom it was!

"Is that the new Firebolt?" Harry asked eagerly.

"What? No way!" Draco squawked, and before Ron knew it the two of them had surrounded him, admiring the broom with him.

"That's..." And Ron had been impressed by Xochi... "This is awesome!"

"Just think how fast you'll be now! Nothing will get past you!" Harry crowed, almost dancing in place. "You're going to let us try it, right?"

"Maybe! I don't know, we'll see!" Ron shot back, grinning maniacally. He had a Firebolt. If he'd had any doubts about his first Suitor's affections, well, that certainly alleviated them. Not that he'd had any, of course, because the amulet he wore still gave him those feelings of affection pretty regularly throughout the day.

"Well, go on, open the other!" Harry said. "Even if it won't be half as interesting as this, traditionally speaking."

"It should just be another piece of jewelry, right?" Ron asked, even as he opened the somewhat garish paper.

"That's all that it's allowed to be for a traditional Courtship," Draco answered.

Minerva the cat was up on the bed now, too, investigating Ron's new broom curiously. Apparently she disapproved wholeheartedly of the thing because she hopped down shortly thereafter, making off with some of the wrapping paper in her mouth. Her antics, sadly, were ignored by the three boys.

Inside the second box, as expected, was a new piece of jewelry. This was a silver bracelet set with diamonds and rubies in an alternating pattern. When Ron touched it, he got a feeling of friendly affection, which was nothing compared to the occasionally overwhelming sensations he received from the amulet.

"Well?" Draco demanded.

"It's nice. Whoever sent this likes me, but they don't... I don't think that they really want me to say yes. It's more like it was done as a friendship type thing than anything else," Ron said, puzzled. Why would somebody who didn't desire him send him a Courtship gift? He was just intrigued enough that he put the bracelet on anyway.

Why not? Maybe having a second Suitor would keep his first on his toes.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco watched as Ron put on the silver and red bracelet, then checked the time. Eight o'clock. He let out a small, unhappy sigh, and stepped away from the two others. He shouldn't go. He should stop. He should talk to Harry, and let Harry handle the matter for him. It wasn't as though Harry wouldn't after all. But... but Harry was supposed to avoid being upset. And this? This would definitely upset him.

"I have to head to the owlery," he said quietly, not daring to look up to meet the heat of Harry's gaze that he could feel burning twin holes in the top of his head.

"Really? Is that the excuse we're using today?" Harry snarled, his mood turning swiftly. Draco had noticed that it had the tendency to do that these days, despite the blocks placed to keep him from merging fully with Tom Riddle's spirit.

Draco flinched, and turned away. "I need to send a letter to my parents," he answered quietly, and slipped from the room before he could change his mind.

He wasn't even sure what he'd done that was so worthy of punishment over the summer, other than back talking his father. Maybe that was it, although he wasn't sure how that merited a full year's worth of punishment served out twice a week. Well, no. Who was he kidding? He was lucky that his show of defiance earlier in the year hadn't gotten him killed.

But it didn't matter. At this point he had two options, and neither were good. He could go to Harry, and he had no doubt that Harry would kill his father. Unfortunately, that would probably result in Harry's final merge with Tom, and Draco refused to be the catalyst for that mess. His second option was to just go along with it. His time would come soon enough, and this was... well, it wasn't fun. It was painful, it was humiliating, and he hated it.

But he could stand it for a few more years. That was all it would take. And then he'd be free.

He made it out of the common room and was making his way towards the Owlery, where he was supposed to meet with them, when he heard a soft voice whisper, "_Imperio_!" and then nothing.

ooOOooOOoo

Sirius tried his hardest to stop his leg from jiggling impatiently. Moony had finally, finally agreed to meet with him at The Three Broomsticks, and Sirius was more than a little eager to see his... well, his ex? His current... he wasn't sure what they were, to be honest. He'd sent Moony several letters, and he'd more than bared his soul to the man, but Remus' responses had all been... well, they'd been lukewarm at best.

When the werewolf finally entered the tavern, Sirius couldn't stop himself from cataloging the differences in him. Remus was thinner, of course, and dressed more shabbily than he ever had while he'd been with Sirius. Of course, since Sirius wasn't around to dress him anymore, that wasn't exactly a surprise. He looked older, but then, so did Sirius. But he also looked tired, and beaten, and nothing like Sirius had been expecting.

"Hi, Sirius," Moony whispered as he settled down across from Sirius. "You look really good," he added, but wouldn't quite meet Sirius' eyes.

"You look like hell," Sirius answered bluntly. "Isn't Dumbledore taking care of you?"

"He's given me a job and a safe place to stay during the full moons. There isn't much more he can do for me," Remus answered sharply. He did look up, finally, and his amber eyes were sharp with anger and a bit of discomfort.

Sirius leaned forward and hesitantly, carefully, took Remus' hand between his own. "I could take care of you, you know," he offered with a tiny smile. They'd joked about it often when he was a younger man, about how Moony would be his kept man and spend his days researching and playing with defensive spells. Merlin, they'd all been so innocent back then. Jamie and Lily had still been alive, and Peter had been distant but had not yet betrayed them.

"I don't want you to take care of me," Remus said sharply, and jerked his hand away. "Listen, Sirius, I just..." Remus closed his eyes, looked down, and swallowed harshly. "We can't do this."

Sirius jerked in shock. "Moony-" he tried, then shook his head. "Remus, I know that things have been a little shaky between us since I got out of Azkaban, but there's no reason-"

"There's every reason!" Remus shouted, and slammed his hand against the table. The tavern fell silent around them, and as soon as the noise level picked up once more Remus said quietly, "There's every reason that we can't do this, starting with the fact that you're still staying with the Malfoys."

"Grimmauld place is in terrible shape," Sirius protested, but the excuse sounded awful even to himself. The truth was that he was... okay. He hadn't changed sides. He wouldn't do that. He couldn't with any good conscience support the monster that murdered his best friend. But... he had two cousins that were staying at the Manor at the moment. And while Narcissa was distant and barely acknowledged him at the best of times, Bellatrix had apparently taken it as her given duty to try to convert him. Which meant that he was actually spending a great deal of time with her, as insane as she was. And it was nice to actually be getting along with his cousins for once.

"Don't bullshit me, Sirius," Remus said flatly. "Because you're not fooling me. You may not have taken his side before he killed Lily and James, but I can't imagine that you aren't doing it right now."

Sirius flinched back. "I'm not!" he protested. "I wouldn't side with the monster that killed... I wouldn't."

"Really? Because you haven't been to see Albus since he secured your release from Azkaban." Remus was leaning back, now, physically distancing himself from the conversation. It made Sirius ache to see.

"Let's start with how he didn't see to it that I got a trial in the first place until they needed me," Sirius shot back, bristling. He wasn't stupid. He knew that he'd only been pulled from Azkaban when Dumbledore needed him. He'd been taken out and dusted off like a toy. He didn't even want to think of what might have happened when Dumbledore didn't need him anymore.

No, Sirius would never turn to the Dark, not after what it had done to his friends. But he knew that he couldn't trust Dumbledore either.

It was the wrong thing to say, though. Remus was shaking his head, a weary and haunted expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Siri," he whispered, even as he stood up. "I can't do this with you. Not now, and probably not ever. It would be better if you were to move on."

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, anything to stop Moony from going, but by the time he could think of anything, Moony was already gone. He put his head down on the cool table and tried his hardest not to cry, and when Rosmerta wandered by, he ordered a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Moony hated him now, and he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong. Sobriety wasn't really going to help with this, he didn't think.

ooOOooOOoo

Remus made it all the way to the Shrieking Shack before the tears took hold of him. He collapsed to his knees, sagged against the wall of the decrepit house, and sobbed silently there. He loved Sirius. More than anything in the world, he loved Sirius. But he couldn't... he couldn't do this to him. He wouldn't.

Dumbledore had many things that he wanted from Remus in return for his position at Hogwarts, but Sirius was the one thing that Remus wouldn't give. He knew that Dumbledore would use the man to get to Harry, who yes, probably deserved to be gotten to judging by the way that he acted when he thought nobody was looking, but Sirius... Sirius would never forgive himself if he was used to get Harry.

And Remus would never be able to look at himself in the mirror again if he was responsible for doing more harm to Sirius.

It was better this way. Remus would be miserable, sure, and Sirius probably would be for quite a while, but he would get over it. Sirius would move on, and find somebody else to fall in love with, and he would get married and have children or get married and adopt. Remus would only destroy him. Remus was, after all, a broken down and sorry excuse for a werewolf who would die young as the transformations took their toll on his body.

This was the best choice for everyone involved. Remus just had to keep that in mind.

He stood, slowly and painfully, and made his way to the secret passage that would take him back to Hogwarts. He needed to go to his room and rest and try to think of a lie to tell Dumbledore when the old man asked him why he and Sirius weren't together.

It should be easy enough to spin a tale of Sirius' resentment over the fact that nobody ever came for him in Azkaban. And since Sirius wouldn't talk to Dumbledore, then Sirius wouldn't be able to counter his story.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco made his way back up to the dorm, shaky and uncertain. His body ached, but he was relatively sure that it didn't ache in the way that it should after visiting with R... with him. He'd experienced the Cruciatus often enough to be intimately familiar with its effects on his body. And for some reason, he couldn't remember...

He remembered the decision to go through with his punishment. He'd decided that Harry couldn't be angered right now, so he would go ahead and get it over with. It was only for a few more years, anyway. He could handle it, right? But...

But he'd never had an episode where he couldn't remember the actual punishment. And they always took place in the same place, and he wasn't coming from their normal abandoned classroom near the owlery. He was coming from somewhere in the dungeons.

What in the world had happened? He didn't know. He was a little panicked by that, but he tried not to show it as he crawled into his bed, exhausted and aching.

Apparently he failed at not showing it as Harry asked coldly, "So how was mailing your letter?"

Draco flinched. He hated that Harry was mad at him. He really did. "I don't remember," Draco whispered after a moment of silence. He probably shouldn't have admitted that, actually.

"You can't... what do you mean you can't remember?" Ron asked sharply. Draco hadn't even realized he was awake.

"I mean I don't remember!" Draco snapped. He shouldn't have said anything.

"This has to stop, Draco," Harry whispered, and Draco felt his bed dip as Harry came to settle on his bed with him. "If you're blacking out-"

"I didn't black out!" Draco protested. "I don't... I don't even remember making it to... I didn't make it there. I don't know what happened. I'm fine, though, really." He was fine. He didn't know what had happened, but he was fine.

"I think we should take you to Professor Snape," Harry said quietly. "I don't like that you can't remember what happened. That's never happened before, and Tom's saying that it could be a sign of something else."

"Something else like what?" Draco asked, and tried to ignore the tendrils of panic seeping into his mind. It wasn't anything else. It couldn't be. He was fine. He just... maybe it had been a bad punishment and he'd just blocked it out. Or maybe he'd struck his head as he'd writhed under the curse. There were a million things that could have happened.

"Something else like severe brain damage," Harry said darkly. "Please, can we just go and see Professor Snape?"

Draco closed his eyes and buried his head in his pillow. "I feel fine. I don't want to," he whispered.

He heard Harry sigh heavily, felt him pat him gently on the shoulder, and felt him stand up. "Fine," Harry answered begrudgingly. "But if you aren't feeling better in the morning, or if this happens again, I'm not going to ask. I'm going straight to Professor Snape. Is that fair?"

Draco hesitated. "It's fine," he said finally. He would be feeling much better in the morning; he always did. And this wouldn't happen again. This was the first time it had happened, and he was sure it would be the last.

But despite his surety, he still didn't sleep that night. He couldn't help but wonder what he'd forgotten, and why it was that he forgot it.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco seemed better in the morning, which was the only thing that kept Harry from going straight to Professor Snape. He still seemed a bit shaky, and he had shadows under his eyes, but he seemed... better. Less shaky than last night, certainly, when Harry had thought he was going to fall over before he could make it into bed.

~We should still go to Severus,~ Tom grumbled. He sounded disgruntled, and Harry was amused that he did his best to make sure that his voice gave some inflection rather than letting Harry wonder just what it was that he was thinking.

~We should, but we're not going to. Weren't you the one who told me to wait until he gave me permission?~ Harry asked sweetly as he began to eat his breakfast.

~I didn't mean while he was displaying signs of potential brain damage,~ Tom hissed. ~But fine. Whatever. Just wait until he drops dead in the middle of class one day, then you'll know that I was right.~

Harry snorted into his eggs and immediately forced the feelings down before anybody thought he was crazy. ~He's not going to drop dead,~ he shot back.

~You don't know that, do you?~ Tom snarked. ~I didn't see you complete your mediwizardry training.~

~Yeah, well I know that you never did~ Harry said, and then fell silent when he heard a commotion start at the other side of the Hall.

Ginny Weasley had entered, and she looked awful. Her face was puffy and swollen and badly bruised on one side. She wore her school robes, but they were torn and tattered and there was a trickle of blood running down one of her legs. She was staggering in the direction of their table in an almost drunken set of movements.

"You monster!" she screamed and lifted a shaking finger to point at Draco. "You... you rapist!" she shrieked, and fell to her knees in the middle of the hall. Her shoulders were wracked by loud and painful sobs.

The Hall fell entirely silent and all eyes went from Ginny to Draco, who looked dumbstruck.

* * *

**A/N: You guys. You guys. I have the best excuse ever for not updating for two months. Just substitute whatever you're thinking for something ten times more awesome! No, but seriously, school is an evil thing that likes to beat me over the head with lots and lots of work. So, I'm going to go ahead and warn you all now, I likely won't update this until sometime after finals, which is the middle of May-ish. And then I'm on summer break, and I'm only taking one class, and I shouldn't be too busy, so you guys'll see a lot more of me.**

**So, as always, thank you all so much for reading, and I really appreciate your patience! Please let me know how you enjoyed the chapter!**


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